Getty Magic, Rossi Romance
by Livia55555G
Summary: An addition to the Ugly Betty Land vs California series established by Rltsweetie original plus sequel and continued by Beatrice Benedick Having Tea One Nice Evening - Lots of Getties and Rossis
1. A Convocaton of Rossis

**This is based on Rltsweetie's _Ugly Betty Land vs California_ series and characters; it is ultimately a story revolving around Gio and Betty as much as anybody and so qualifies as an _Ugly Betty_ fanfic. It's stream-of-consciousness with virtually no editing, so very different from my other fanfic. **

Chapter 1  
~ A Convocation of Rossis ~

"Oh my god, I can't believe we still haven't had our babies, B!" cried Livia.

"Yes, you two are more roly-poly than ever," exclaimed Fabiano. "In addition to each of you carrying a double load, what with twins, you both have had the most humongous food cravings of any pregnant women ever. And not just in the first trimester, either, but all the way through your pregnancies! Poor Tino and I are breaking our backs waiting on you hand and foot."

"Well, Fabiano, at least you've been able to perfect your pastele making, what with Beatrice demanding them at all hours every single day," noted Tino. "She is going to owe your pants a heap of loving when she gets back to her old weight and can actually get out of her chair again!"

"You should talk. Livia is big as a barn, thanks to eating those Hawaiian pizzas with ham, pineapple and jalapenos around the clock, but you don't have to make them for her, just order them up from Federico and Elena's pizza business. On the other hand, you better start hoping Livia doesn't feel the need to thank Federico's pants when this is all over."

"Hey, you two guys have to pay somehow," admonished Beatrice. "You cannot imagine how sore Livia's and my insides are right now, just because you two Rossis had to go and make such rambunctious, hyperactive kids to kick around inside of us. By the way, Livia, aren't we supposed to have our babies pretty soon? I could swear nine months has nearly passed."

"Well, I'm just thankful that we're not Christina on _Ugly Betty_. Did you notice she's still pregnant with the Meade heir and the show is in its seventh season now?" Livia made a disgusted face. "PRIVATE really makes his people do the most awesomely awful things, like carrying a baby 6 years or wearing Patricia Field's clothes. I suppose I shouldn't badmouth him, though, since he's going to be responsible for our going to the hospital in style."

"Yeah, at our baby shower, Livia, you probably shouldn't have punched him for giving us each such a small box for a gift," observed Beatrice.

Livia looked chagrined at the memory. "Well, how was I to know they contained keys for the world's first two hybrid Lexuses? You boys do have those all packed up and ready to speed us off to the hospital at a moment's notice, don't you?"

Tino gave Fabiano a meaningful look, warning his brother by his expression not to let on to the women that their husbands had been out cavorting and drag racing around in their Lexuses while they sat home snacking and watching cable. The two Rossi males had been partners-in-crime since they were twin toddlers together and time had only made them more incorrigible.

Living next door to each other and cooking together every day had brought the brothers closer than ever. And lately they were not only neighbors at home but at work, as well. With all the effort he had to put into keeping his refrigerator and condiment bar stocked and making up salads and spreads and creating delicious new mixtures of flavors and textures, Tino had grown tired of also having to make his own bread for sandwiches and had convinced Fabiano to perfect his baking skills.

Fabiano had gone on to pursue lessons in making rolls, pastries and all kinds of cakes, cookies, pies and tarts and danishes, not to mention tamales, and had ended up opening a bakery next to Livino's Deli. He hoped that one day Beatrice would come to work there at his side, just as Livia did with Tino, but Beatrice was such a successful video-maker that he could not in all conscience ask her to abandon her own career.

Later in the evening, Elena and Federico dropped by to shmooze with the family. "Hi guys," exclaimed Elena, giving each of the chubby ladies a hug, "we just came over to see whether either of our Aunties had popped the cork yet. But nope, I can see you're both just as fat and happy as ever."

"Actually, that's not the only reason we came over," said Federico. "My foxy lady and I were just having an interesting discussion and came up with an inspiration we wanted to let you in on." Here he winked at his wife, the two of them sharing a secretive grin, remembering that the discussion came after a passionate session of lovemaking that afternoon. It was what they did each day instead of drinks before dinner. Afterwards, their limbs entwined with each other, they would kiss and giggle, sifting through the events of the day and the thoughts on each other's minds.

"Is it about something the two of you are thinking of doing together?" asked Fabriano.

"Like maybe having a baby of your own?" added Beatrice.

"Well, no, we _are_ working on that, but that's not what we're talking about now." said Elena.

"Actually, this is something the whole family could do together," added Federico. "You know how grandpa Tomasino—that is, _your_ father, Uncles Tino and Fab—was one of the world's greatest unsung Italian cooks? Have you ever noticed that he passed the cooking gene down to all the succeeding generations of male Rossis?"

"That's true." said Tino. "There's me and my Deli, Fabiano and his bakery and you and the new pizza shop you and your wife invested in with some of that money Rachael gave you Getty ladies for some mysterious reason."

"We were thinking to buy up all the shops along the street where the two of you have your places of business and get the city to rename it Rossi Row. Then each of us guys in the family—with our wives and sweethearts if they want to get involved—could contribute to a community of culinary services. Rossi Row could corner the market on good eating in this region of California!"

"Great idea," declared Tino. "Let's call a family powwow."

Late the next afternoon, all the available Rossis gathered on the patio of the duplex shared by the Rossi uncles and their wives. "Hmmm," mused Tino to Livia, looking at the beatific faces of the men from his family. "We Rossi fellows used to be such the players with women, real dawgs you know, but there's just something about Getty girls that's magical. Now, look at Feddy and Elena snuggling together, Calvino hand-feeding chocolate-covered strawberries to Melissa, Antonino teasing and tickling Lauren, Lanzo macking on Juna, and Valentino with his arms wrapped around Stephanie. Of course, true to form, there's Ontrelle flexing his muscles to impress Christy."

"Well, it seems to be working for him," commented Livia, giving a little wave to Christy, who blushed. "Shall we get this meeting underway? Why don't you go ahead and share your ideas, Federico and Elena?"

Again, Federico outlined the brainstorm that he and his ever-loving wife had hatched, and nobody in the family was less than enthusiastic. Antonino was thrilled at the prospect of running his own ice cream parlor, Valentino had been wanting to establish a coffee shop that would put Starbucks to shame, and even Calvino—the youngster of the family—had been moving ahead making plans for the candy store he would rule someday.

"My dearest inamorata," asked Juna, turning to Lanzo. "I know you've always dreamed of opening a cooking institute to combine your professorial skills with your culinary expertise. Is there any way that could fit into the Rossi family vision?"

"But, indubitably, my pulchritudinous one," responded her lover. "I will open my school right at the end of the street and every year a new covey of students will come through and serve as interns at all the multitudinous Rossi businesses. The students will have the benefit of learning kitchen lore first hand from a whole family of food maestros and the family will save on wages, since interns don't collect a salary."

"Genius!" smiled Juna, wrapping her arms around his neck and, after removing his glasses, bestowing a big kiss on him full on the lips.

"You know what, Ontrelle?" asked Christy. "You were looking for a way you could spend time out at the shore and still make money. Well, here's your answer. You could spend your mornings out there fishing every day, then go for your usual nude swim at noon, and in the afternoons and evenings run your seafood restaurant. And I could help you!" She threw herself into his lap, laughing and covering his face with kisses. "Especially" she whispered low, "with the nude swim part."

"You know the only thing that makes me sad, though?" asked Valentino. He stared around the room at each of his relatives in turn, and each of the men nodded, as their wives and girlfriends looked on, puzzled.

"I know," nodded Antonino.

"Me, too," added Calvino.

"He's been much on my mind, too," said Federico, shaking a small tear from his eye before it could roll down his cheek and embarrass him. He sighed, and at last the name escaped him. "Gio. He loved feeding people so. He would fit perfectly into our Rossi fraternity of wizard chefs."

At this utterance, the ladies present looked around stricken, exchanging guilty glances among themselves which their men never noticed. Finally, Stephanie dared to broach the topic. "You guys never mention Gio. His name hardly arises in conversation. We had no idea he was on your minds so much. After he was such a dawg to Rachael, I thought you were all ashamed of him and pretty much dismissed him from the family."

"Never!" Her own Valentino was looking at her in horror. "Whatever Gio did, he did out of desperation and some day I hope to learn why! Gio was the best of us, the star of the family. We always expected great things of him until he got in the clutches of that Betty who bewitched him for so long."

"Yes," threw in Antonino. "Then he finally escaped Ugly Betty Land, and fell for Rachael and everything seemed to be going his way. He was in love with a wonderful girl, he was a family man, and he was happy. Then somehow he snapped, and the next thing we knew, PRIVATE got back his power over him and dragged him back to where he didn't want to be."

"Hmph," said Beatrice. "I watch _Ugly Betty_ still from time to time and he looks pretty happy now, with his DVDs of his travels all over the world at PRIVATE's expense. Not that I'd ever want to be under PRIVATE's thumb myself. I hate that man!" Here she scowled and formed her hands into claws to show how much she wanted to scratch him. "But still, he's given Gio a pretty cozy life there."

"Sweetheart," whispered Fabiano to her soothingly. "I know it's more comfortable for you to think so, for you probably feel as angry as the rest of us at what happened to Gio and would like to think it didn't hurt him too badly. But we who have known him since childhood can look in his eyes—yes, right through the TV screen—and see the sadness, the emptiness. He is so lost."

Tino nodded and ran a hand carelessly through his wife Livia's hair as her head rested on his shoulder. "We will get to the bottom of this one day, if it takes all our lives. We will find out what happened to Gio and he will be avenged."

The hearts of the eight women present all beat faster in panic as they shot each other guilty looks and crossed their fingers, praying their men would never learn the truth about Gio.

"Hey," young Calvino was jumping up now to claim the spotlight. "We haven't talked about how we're going to pay for all this. You know, all the shops we want to open along Rossi Row."

Federico explained: "Well, each of the couples here, I know, has spent some of the money Rachael gave us—gave the ladies actually—but I'm pretty sure we all have some money left over, too. We thought that the rest of these nest eggs could go into our businesses, if that's all right with the women. I realize it's a lot to ask up front, but in the long run, I'm sure it will be a good investment which every Rossi-Getty match can use to build a life together. I don't think any one of us men have ever understood exactly where Rachael got that money or why she was so generous with all of you that night when we all stood around and saw that Gio was back in Ugly Betty Land. So maybe it's asking too much, I don't know. But would you ladies be interested in sharing the booty (his eyes had inadvertently fallen on his wife's sweet butt)—erm, I mean bounty?"

Little did Fed know that he had picked the perfect moment to ask, for the revelations of just a few minutes before had rendered the Getty girls nearly speechless with guilt. Their men must never discover their roles in the banishment of Gio. One by one each nodded in acquiescence to Federico's suggestion, silently sealing their commitment to the sisterhood of secrecy. Their discomfort was so intense that they were actually glad to hear a loud roaring interrupt the meeting.

"Damn, it's that new neighbor again, mowing his lawn," swore Beatrice. "He does that every godforsaken day. His grass never has time to grow a millimeter, cos he's always out there making such a racket with his mower."

Her husband joined her in annoyance. "The guy knows the lawn doesn't need mowing. He's just there to show off his buff bod. Otherwise he wouldn't think he needed to remove his shirt every time he started in with the lawn work."

Obviously, Livia had a more complacent perspective on the new neighbor. "Oh, I don't mind the shirtlessness so much. He is nice and muscle-y. I was talking to him and he's been through the wringer quite a bit, hopping around in time and whatnot. You all should like him, too, since he seems to be Italian."

"Doesn't look Italian," grumbled her jealous hubby.

"But his name ends in 'O'" pointed out Livia. "Sawyero. Surely that's a paisan of yours."

As the aunties and uncles argued amongst themselves about the assets and liabilities of the new neighbor, Melissa was startled when a hand pulled her to her feet and dragged her around to the front of the house. It was her dearest love, her idol, her fiancé Calvino. "Listen," he said urgently, "I have something to speak to you about. And after the discussion tonight it can't wait any longer!" He was clearly excited, but she couldn't tell whether he was filled with elation or anger. Would this mean the end for them or a whole new phase of their relationship? She wanted to know and yet she was scared. But time would soon tell.


	2. Can Young Love Last?

Chapter 2

~ Can Young Love Last? ~

Over in Norway, Justicia Bee was just settling in to watch an episode of _Ugly Betty_ which she had tivoed earlier that evening. How she appreciated that here in the Californialand universe Norwegians got to view _UB_ episodes on the same day as Americans. In fact, Bee got to see them earlier than the Yanks because when it was 8:00 pm where she was it was only 11:00 am for her Getty sistas in California.

Right now, it was actually the middle of the night for her (well, at this time of year it was always the middle of the night, but it was also truly after midnight). She was watching TV because she was having trouble sleeping—owing not to a worried mind, but to her excitement that her bestselling book _When Hell Freezes Over_ was being made into a Hollywood movie. She would have preferred Bollywood, but—oh, well—at least this way she'd soon get to visit California and the other Getties. Despite her great success as a novelist, it would be the first of her "darlings" to be filmed, and for a beautiful young writer only 23 years old that was quite an achievement.

Bee settled down with some popcorn just as Betty's enormous head (she had a very big-screen TV) swam into her line of vision. Betty and Hilda were talking while Hilda trimmed Betty's hair and Betty cried.

"What's wrong, little sister?" the busty, raven-haired beauty asked. "Every time you come to my salon you have tears pouring down your face, even though you've had about a dozen lovers over the last few years. Don't tell me it's still all about Gio!"

"He just sent another video, this one from a hut in Polynesia. He was enjoying a fruity tropical rum drink with a lovely model after an afternoon of surfing, and so was both shirtless _and_ wet at the same time. Oh, Hilda, he is just sending me these DVDs to torture me. At the end he ran his hand through his spikey-cut hair and winked at the camera, as if to say, 'Betty, we could have been so great together. Eat your heart out!'"

"That doesn't sound like Gio. He could be brash and teasing at times, but never cruel. And, by the way, if you're done with the DVD, can I borrow it?"

"_Hilda!_"

"Okay, okay! Just saying!"

"You're right, you're right. He's not cruel. He always includes a nice note with each DVD, but they're all signed, 'Your friend, Gio' with friend underlined, as if to emphasize that we will never be anything more. Every day I am thinking about what I will say to him when he returns home to his deli. I'll do whatever it takes to get him back!"

Hilda frowned and by mistake lopped off a large chunk of Betty's hair. "Oops, I hope you were ready for a styling change, baby girl. Anyway, I thought you had faced the fact that Gio was your past and that Daniel is your future."

"Are you insane? For seven years I've waited on Daniel hand and foot, and he's always hanging me out to dry when I really need him. Of course he comes back and apologizes later and does some lame thing that sort of makes everything right—but only belatedly, after I've been stepped on and walked over and humiliated—and then he expects to be thanked like a hero. I get that enough during my work hours. Why would I want it to carry over to my home life?"

"Then I guess it's Marc for you."

"Oh, right. At least we have the banter down, so that's kind of entertaining."

"See? Like you and Gio."

"No, Marc's banter is definitely not the same. It's gay banter."

"But he's straight now."

"So decrees Hort . . . erm, God. But apparently God doesn't understand if you're born gay, you're gay. (And since God is gay himself, you'd think he'd realize that.) Marc is my lamest love interest yet, which makes me believe we're jumping the shark."

Bee sighed and switched off the television. More of the same old same old on _UB_. Every year she swore she had given up hope and yet here she was still rooting for a Getty endgame. She soon drifted off to sleep dreaming about her upcoming trip to the homeland of her friends.

* * * * * * * * *

Just as Bee's eyes were fluttering shut, Calvino Rossi was dragging a bewildered Melissa away from the gathering at her aunties' duplex.

"Wait! Calvino! Where are you taking me? You're so intense, you're frightening me."

"You'll see. Come on."

He seemed to be leading her down the street to a little nearby park. Melissa's mind was racing a mile a minute. Whatever had set Calvino off seemed to come from the conversation at the Rossi confabulation they had just attended. Could it be all that talk about Gio's fate? Had Calvino figured out how the Getty girls had profited from Rachael's ill-gotten gains?

Or was it simply that the plans his older relatives had started making—plans that portended big commitments—had frightened him. After all, Melissa—not Calvino—had been the one to propose, and since they had become engaged, no diamond had appeared, no date had been set. They were at a standstill.

Perhaps Calvino had never wanted to be engaged but had said Yes so as not to hurt her feelings. Perhaps his cousins' and uncles' plans had made him anxious, because they reeked of settling down when he was not yet ready. By the time they reached the park, Melissa had steeled herself for a break-up.

Calvino walked her over to a bench and they sat down. Calvino did not slip his arm around her shoulders as was usual for him, but instead settled into his seat leaving a little space between them and ran his hand through his hair nervously. He seemed to be bracing himself for some ordeal.

Broken-hearted now, Melissa nevertheless resolved to be brave. "Calvino, I love you."

"I know." Uh-oh, his girlfriend thought, for she had hoped his answer would be 'I love you, too.'

The young Getty took a deep breath and started again. "Listen. The night I proposed to you I just got carried away. I want you to know if you don't want to marry me, that will be all right." She gulped and tried to blink away the hot tears forming in her eyes. "If you want to go back to just being girlfriend and boyfriend, that's fine, too. Really, no pressure. I can wait." Now she turned slightly away so that he couldn't see her face contorting in misery despite her efforts to control herself. "And, Calvino, if you've decided you don't want me at all, well, I'll understand . . ." And here the words stopped. She couldn't go on.

She felt Calvino's hand on her arm and suddenly she could not bear his touch and yanked it away.

"Melissa!" he sounded quite upset. Was that a good sign or something more to worry about?

"Melissa, you must listen to me. Turn around." She did so reluctantly and a strand of hair fell across her forehead. Calvino reached up absently and brushed it away.

"Melissa, I want you to think back to that hotel we were both staying at, that first vacation we spent together. You wanted a shower, but the careless maids had forgotten to leave any towels in the room. You went out in the hall, where the maids were, and just asked them politely for a towel. But then—you being you—you added that of course you could do without if it was too much trouble. 'No pressure' you said. And they almost took you up on it and left you no towel!"

"Yes, until you came barreling down the hall and scolded them. You were my hero!"

"Unfortunately, later on, thinking of you coming out of your shower with just your towel on was too much for me. We had that date and I told myself to be good, but maybe I moved in on you a bit too fast after that."

"I didn't complain."

"But that's just it. You wouldn't. You are the sweetest girl ever, never wanting to make trouble for anyone else. That's why I fell in love with you—and I would have anyway, even if you weren't as pretty as you are. Even now here you are trying to let me off the hook even if I were wanting to break your heart."

"But you don't?"

"Let me tell you something about the night you proposed to me. When you asked me to marry you, it made me curse inwardly. Not because I didn't want to, but because for at least two weeks before I'd been trying to work up the courage to ask you, and now you had stolen my thunder. But it's not too late! I realize that now."

At this, Calvino dropped off the bench and onto one knee. Pulling a small red heart out of his jacket pocket, he proffered it to his love. "Melissa, will you do me the honor of being my wife? Not sometime in the future, but as soon as possible?"

Wiping away her tears, Melissa accepted the red heart, her face aglow. Removing the red wrapping, she saw that he was offering a chocolate heart, similar to many he had given her before. "Well, it's not a ring, but chocolate is the next best thing!" she beamed, tossing the wrapping paper over her shoulder. Calvino made a mental note to cure her of her littering habit, but that could wait until later.

"It's the darkest, richest chocolate I deal in—do you like it?"

Melissa bit into it and her tooth hit something hard. "It _is_ a ring!" she cried, pulling a small diamond from her mouth and slipping it on her finger. "Oh, Calvino!" And she flung her hands around his neck.

Calvino buried his face in her neck and kissed her, then moved his lips to hers and lingered there. At last he pulled away. "Listen, can we get married right away? We've got to start making plans soon because it looks like I'm going to have my own candy shop. I need to know how much the wedding is going to cost, so that I'll know how much I have left to invest in the shop."

"You know we can cut corners if need be. I want you to have everything for your shop that you've ever dreamed of."

"Nonsense! I'll have years to work on improving my business, but I'll be damned if I'll skimp on the happiest day of my life. By the way, I'm hoping it will be _our _shop, not just mine. What do you say, will you work with me, like Uncle Tino and Aunt Livia?"

"Oh dear, I'm never going to lose 20 lbs working in a candy store!"

"Thank God! You are curvy now, just the way I like. I hope that never changes."

They hugged again, their eyes closed, just enjoying the warmth and closeness of each other's bodies. They scarcely noticed the sound of laughter and women's chatter drawing nearer, until they heard a woman's voice ring out, "Melissa!"

Hmmm, thought Melissa, was that my name spoken with a Scottish accent? Pulling back to look around, she saw Rachael, Nena, Fen and Rachael's two children moving toward them. The kids each held a boomerang, and a moment later the one from Ricco's hand came flying at Melissa. She ducked but then realized that it had swerved and was headed off in a new direction.

"What's with the boomerangs?" she asked her friend.

"Well, that's a long story," replied Rachael. "Let's sit and catch up." She eyed the small but sparkling stone newly bedecking her American friend's left hand. "It looks like you've got a story of your own to tell, too."


	3. Getty Love Can Surprise You

Chapter 3

~ Getty Love Can Surprise You ~

Beatrice grabbed for the TV remote before anyone else could get their hands on it. "Mine!" she shouted, pushing the POWER button. The Rossi nephews and their lady loves had all left, and she and Livia and their long-suffering hubbies were lolling around her living room. "Well," announced B, "Since it's 8:00 we might as well watch _Ugly Betty_. The _TV Guide_ says that tonight a mistake by Hilda will give Betty a new hairstyle. Doesn't sound that interesting, but you never know."

"Who cares?" responded Livia scornfully, depositing her fat self into an easy chair with a huge kerplop that measured a 3 on the Richter scale. "I don't give a damn about Betty's hair. I just want my regular dose of Gio-goodness. Which do you think he'll be this week—wet or shirtless?"

"Hold on there," complained Tino. "Fabiano and I should have some say in this, since we're the only ones in this household who actually work these days. We don't want to watch _Ugly Betty_. We want to watch the hot new Fox show starring that gorgeous actress Misty Something."

"No, not Misty Something," corrected Fabiano. "It's just Misty, like Cher or Madonna or Beyoncé. She doesn't use a last name. She doesn't need one. With a figure like hers, there's no mistaking her for anyone else. I'm going to put a picture of her up in the kitchen at the bakery to keep me happy while I'm working."

"I think I'll put one up at the deli, too," chimed in his twin.

Livia's reaction to that was immediate and emphatic. "Tino, you seem to be forgetting three things that you already have in your deli: Number one, ME! Number two, a butcher's cleaver. Number three, your very own hard salami, if you catch my drift. If I see that woman's photo up on our wall, number one is going to use number two to separate you from your number three, and then we'll see just how much you enjoy looking at your girly picture."

Luckily for the brothers, Beatrice was ready to be more tolerant "Now, now, Livia," she soothed, "Never mind. Let them drool over their Misty. She's usually away filming in New York somewhere. Meanwhile, all you and I have to do is open the drapes and enjoy the scenery—Sawyero pursuing the elusive goal of lawn perfection right in our own back yard. Yum!"

As the image of their tantalizing ever-shirtless neighbor floated through Livia's imagination, she relented. "Oh, all right, let's tivo _UB_ tonight so later we can fast-forward past the non-Gio parts. Meanwhile, you guys can watch your program on Fox."

Fabiano high-fived his brother and snatched the remote from Beatrice's hand. Pressing the channel change button, he brought the opening credits of Fox's 8:00 offering into focus. "There she is! Misty! She plays a young dancer just seeking Broadway fame and fortune—as an undercover CIA agent."

Livia looked at Beatrice. Beatrice looked at Livia. Then they both broke out with hearty laughing, causing the tiny residents of their bellies to start kicking up a storm. "Ha-ha!" bellowed Livia, holding her sides. "That's not just any famous actress. That's a Getty girl! She may be calling herself Misty these days, but we recognize her right away as Miss_T."

"Yeah," nodded Beatrice. "I guess her manager made her change the spelling of her name. Don't you know she's engaged to Freddy Rodriguez, that actor who looks so much like a Rossi, except he's Puerto Rican? They met on the Regis and Kelly show and they've been inseparable ever since!"

"Wait!" asked Tino. "What about this Rodriguez guy's wife?"

"What universe are you living in, honey pie?" scoffed Livia. "Because in this one, the man is single and fancy-free and always has been. So you and your brother just ogle to your heart's content. On account of that lady is spoken for."

"_And_ on account of we know something you don't," added Beatrice. "Misty would tell you herself—she does have a good figure, for sure, but _she's also pulling in her stomach!_"

And so it was that the foursome completely missed an announcement that—had they heard it—would have thrown their households into anxiety and chaos that evening. As the ending credits rolled for _Ugly Betty_, unwatched by 70% of the show's former audience, an ABC announcer urged listeners to "Be here starting a week from tonight to see finally what the future has in store for a little girl in the big city. You've loved her from the beginning. Now you won't want to miss the series' final three episodes, as Betty once and for all says goodbye to her braces and hello to love."


	4. The Past Intrudes

Chapter 4

~ The Past Intrudes ~

"Calvino Rossi, you sprung for a ring for Melissa! That's ace!" Rachel wrapped her Getty friend in a congratulatory hug, then thumped the friend's fiancé approvingly on the back.

"Thanks, Rach," responded the young Rossi, beaming with pride. "I guess you three will be the first to know—we're setting a date for the wedding as soon as possible. We Rossi men have just made some decisions today which mean that Melissa and I have to get on with our plans, so we'll be ready to start the next stage of our life."

"What plans are those?" asked Fen.

Calvino turned to his fiancée and pressed his lips firmly against her cheek. "I'll let you tell your friends about it, okay? Meanwhile, I want to call my twin Cristoforo. I've been wanting you to meet him, and now will be as good a time as any. With your permission, I'm going to ask him to be my best man."

"Omigod, another twin, Cal?" Fen whistled in amazement. "Wow, I've heard that twins run in families, but in the Rossi clan, they don't run—they stampede!"

"Ignore them, my love," Melissa reassured her fiancé. "Of course, invite Cris to be in our wedding. I've been wanting to meet him, too." Smiling fondly into her eyes, Calvino ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek in a gentle caress and was gone.

"You lucky frak, Mel. That guy's got it bad," remarked Rachael as she, Fen and Nena plopped themselves down on the bench beside their friend. "So what are the big, mysterious Rossi plans he mentioned?"

Melissa's eyes glittered with excitement "The men in the family are planning to buy shops all up and down the street Livino's Deli sits on and turn it into a bazaar of good eating. Some of their Getty ladies will pitch in, too. There will be the bakery and the pizza parlor, of course—you know those. And then they're adding an ice cream parlor, a coffee shop, and a seafood restaurant. And Calvino and I are going to have our very own candy store!"

"Right, the two biggest chocoholics in the galaxy are opening a candy store. You guys will end up in sweet tooth rehab, wait and see." Nena nudged her friend's arm with a teasing elbow.

Mel wasn't done yet, though. "And guess what, Rachael?" she announced gaily. "It's all thanks to you."

"Me?" Rachael knit her brows, uncomprehending. "How's that?"

"It's the money you got from PRIVATE for—_you_ know (here she dropped her voice)—that they're going to use for capital to get their stores started."

"Gee, Scottie," Fen piped up, raising an eyebrow in Rachael's direction. "It's kind of ironic, isn't it? You're turning out to be the great benefactress for the Rossis when you're not even one of them any more."

"Well, that certainly wasn't my intention when I gave the money to my Getty friends. But I guess Rossis and Getties are just naturally pulled together like magnets and steel. There's no keeping them apart. So ultimately the money winds up in Rossi hands. Now it's rather sickeningly obvious that you and Calvino are goofily in love, Melissa, not to mention engaged, but some of the other girls have no formal commitment from their boyfriends at all. I just hope they won't live to regret sharing their loot with my ex's relations."

"Now Rachael," Melissa retorted in a friendly manner, "Don't be so mistrusting. You have to admit you're biased. I guess you're still pretty mad at Gio."

The young Scot glanced at her children romping in the park, throwing up their chubby little arms to toss about their new boomerangs. "I don't think I'll ever totally forgive him, but at least he gave me my two biggest blessings."

"So what's with the boomerangs, anyway?"

Rachael exchanged a dark glance with Nena. "That's a sore topic, you see. Every so often these packages arrive for the two kids from various locales around the world. One time they contained puppets from Indonesia. Then there were paper masks from Gambia, and even a pair of tiny kilts from back in Scotland. It made my blood run cold to see Ricco in his cute little kilt, he looked so much like a Rossi."

"Like Gio, you mean."

"Yes," Rachael wrinkled her nose. "And I hate it."

"Who do you think the gifts are coming from?' Melissa could hardly contain her curiosity.

"Oh, I know who they're from," the tots' mother replied. "Every one of them arrives with one card each addressed to Ricco Rossi and Geovanna Rossi, and all the cards are signed the same: 'Love from your Dad.' Of course, for the time being, they can't read so it's not an insurmountable problem. But eventually they'll be old enough to ask questions, and what will I tell them then? They love Edward and they think he's their father. Their _only_ father. Their last name is Cullen now. Just as they call all you Getties 'auntie,' they call the Rossis 'uncle,' but they have no clue that they're related by blood."

"But Gio no longer exists in the Californialand universe! I don't understand how he's sending presents from Ugly Betty Land." Melissa's head was spinning now.

"It's a mystery to me, too. I just know he's found a way."

"Rach, I'm sorry but it makes me sad that your children and their daddy will never know each other." If she and Calvino ever parted after starting a family, she could not imagine trying to deprive him of his children, but then again she couldn't judge. She still loved her man completely and clearly Rachael no longer loved Gio. "I always thought Gio was a wonderful father, and he seemed to adore them."

"Hmph, a good father doesn't treat his babies' mother the way Gio treated me. And treated Nena, too," added Rachael, patting her friend and former rival's hand. Nena remained silent, looking down at her feet and keeping her own counsel.

But Fen noticed that Melissa was growing upset. She knew Melissa hated to see people she loved at odds with each other, but her distress seemed to portend more than a mere aversion to conflict. "What's bothering you, Shorty?" she probed.

"Oh, Fen, it's my in-laws-to-be," cried her young friend, her voice now high and tight with panic. "We Getties just found out that they're furious about what happened to Gio and determined to get to the bottom of it."

"So let them!" shouted Rachel defiantly. "I'm not ashamed of what I did. Gio's earned whatever misfortune he's suffered—if you can call an endless vacation at PRIVATE's expense a misfortune."

"No, Rachel," Melissa beseeched. "You have to shut up about it! If they ever find out, they won't just shun you—they'll hate us all for taking the blood money you got from PRIVATE. They'll hate us more for besmirching _them_ with it! I'd lose Calvino! I couldn't bear it!" She collapsed in Fen's arms in a cascade of sobs.

Rachael sighed, for she did not want to be drawn into succumbing to guilt or grief and yet she felt her kinship with the Getty sisterhood drawing her there. She wished her husband's arms were around her now, his soothing voice buoying up her spirits, his piercing eyes goading her to replenish her resolve, his sparkling . . . no, wait, he didn't sparkle. Sometimes it almost seemed he did, but No, no, he's not a vampire, she reminded herself. He just likes his roast beef rare—like, _really_ rare, in fact quite bloody. But no, that means nothing. But as she grew gloomy, missing Edward, surprisingly it was Melissa that pulled her out of her funk.

"Hey," exclaimed her friend, peeking at the diamond glittering on her finger. "Why am I getting down? I've never been happier. I have a wedding to plan! How would the three of you like to be my bridesmaids?" Fen and Nena were thrilled and said Yes at once. "Now I just have to figure out who I could match you up with from Calvino's family."

Nena spoke up. "I'll tell you who. Valentino has twin brothers Matteo and Eliseo who came to Australia when we all went there to visit Stephanie, but somehow took a wrong turn at the airport and have been stuck there ever since. Stephanie thought we might like to be pen pals with them, so she sent them our addresses and we've been corresponding ever since. This could be the perfect opportunity for us to meet them at last."

"Yes! And to finally free them from wandering the outback for years!," cried Fen. "But what about Rachael? Given the Gio situation and all, it would be too awkward to have Edward in the wedding party."

"Never mind me," said Rachael, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "By the time you get married, I'll be happy to just sit in the audience and watch. You see, I haven't told anybody else yet, but I'm pregnant again."


	5. Pillow Talk

Chapter 5

~ Pillow Talk ~

Edward and Rachael Cullen retired after dinner to the home office they shared and set to work industriously tying up loose ends of projects begun during the work-day. Edward sat at his roll-top desk editing legal briefs and tossing each one into a Moroccan hide briefcase. Across the room, Rachael hunched over her regency-era writing desk, scribbling away at the manuscript for her first full-length novel. From time to time Edward would steal an affectionate peek at her. It was as much the intensity with which she threw herself into all she did as it was her pretty face which had attracted him in high school and which still held his heart captive.

At a little past 9:00, Rachel excused herself and slipped out of the room. Edward continued his labors until she returned about 15 minutes later. As she re-entered, he glanced her way and then did a double-take, for she was now wearing a diaphanous white nightgown which veiled and yet exposed her body in all its rosy glory.

"My love," he murmured in a low, mellifluous voice, "If you've come back to finish up your last chapter, you can forget it. You have tempted and bewitched me in that gown and now I cannot rest until I have worshiped your body with my own."

Rachael blushed. She reveled in her husband's quaint and charming manner of expressing his adoration. "Very well," she responded. "You go ahead and turn in and I'll join you as soon as I've stowed my writing materials."

Nudging the bedroom door open, Edward saw a host of softly flickering candles, each encased in a pink glass container. Deployed along the tops of the bureaus, Rachel's vanity and the bed-side stands, they bathed the room in a warm romantic glow. A scent mixing lavender and vanilla penetrated his nostrils.

All of a sudden he realized that his wife had tiptoed to his side, and he was filled with a consuming hunger for her. Sweeping her slender frame up in one arm, he strode to the bed, hastily dragged the coverlet and blankets to one side and tossed her on the linen-clad mattress. Then he positioned himself above her. His lips quickly found hers and moved against them longingly, trying to experience every variation he could wring from their kiss.

Within a minute her hands were flying over his clothes, unbuttoning, unbuckling, unzipping and tearing away layers, baring his taut stomach and magnificent chest. His own hands slid up and down the flimsy cloth that sheathed her body, exploring the feeling of her gentle curves beneath the delicate covering. At last, impatient to possess her, he reached down to her hem and whipped the gown up and off in a single gesture.

Now totally naked and vulnerable to each other, they pressed their bodies tightly against one another, as their hands and lips skipped here and there igniting the most excitable parts of their anatomies with a carnal fever. At last, ready to take his wife into the marital embrace, Edward reached to his nightstand to grab a condom, but found his hand stayed by her grasp. "No!" she pronounced, "That's not necessary."

The young husband gazed back into his wife's eyes with confusion and concern. "It will always be necessary," he intoned soberly and began to tear open the packet.

But Rachael slipped her hand between the two of his and plucked the condom away from him. "No," she declared firmly. "Not tonight. Not from now on."

* * * * * * * * *

After completing the act of love, Elena rolled off her husband, only to have him flip her onto her back and trap her body beneath his own. "Did you think I was done with you?" he muttered slyly, his dimples wreathing a lascivious grin.

"Your staying power is unbelievable," she said, gazing at him in awe.

"Only because I have a foxy wife who inspires me," rejoined Federico. With that, he pressed his lips to hers then began peppering a pathway down her body with kisses, beginning at her chin and working down over her neck, breastbone and belly.

However, before he could invade the dangerous territory below her navel, she grabbed his shoulder to gain his attention. "Wait," she admonished firmly. "Just a minute. I love that you can't get enough of me, but right now we need to talk."

Feddy sighed and slid up beside his wife, supporting himself on one elbow. Picking at the top sheet with his free hand, he furrowed his brow. He had suspected this was coming and he wasn't looking forward to it. Like many men, he preferred to keep his emotional stresses bottled within himself, unexpressed.

Elena lay back on the pillow and put her hand under his chin, lifting his face until his gaze met hers. "Sweetheart," she said. "It hasn't escaped my notice that ever since the family meeting at the duplex earlier, your mind has been only half-present. I know you, I know your moods and I know that something about that meeting troubled you. Now, I thought the reaction of your relatives to our suggestion was extremely positive. So what's on your mind?"

"Oh, nothing," demurred her husband. "I thought the powwow went well, too."

"Then the problem can only be one thing," declared Elena. "It's Gio, isn't it?"

From the way Federico flinched when she spoke, the young wife realized her words were on target. For a moment, Gio's brother's face crumpled as though he were about to cry, but he quickly took control of himself, adopting a stony expression as he turned away towards the wall. His inquisitor, understanding that it might be easier for him to unburden himself if he did not have to meet her eyes, did not attempt to draw him back.

Finally his words began to flow. "Elena, I love you. I love you more than I ever understood was possible for one person to love another. There is nobody on earth that means as much to me. But second only to you, I love my brother Gio. There's something about being twins—especially identical twins like we are—that ties you to one another, actually tunes you into each other's vibrations in some way that is like no other experience you can imagine. If you think about it, at one time in the womb we were a single being until we got separated somehow. So during the time he's been away from me, it's been like my right side is calling out to my left side." Finally, he turned back to his wife. "Like he's calling out to me, even from another universe, calling for me to help him."

"Help him do what?"

Federico shrugged, wondering how to explain. "I've been so happy with you, I've tried to put it out of my mind, but the truth is it's never set easy with me the way he left. Okay, he loved Rachael and then his marriage fell apart and that had to be painful. I guess I can even see why he had an affair, although of all of us, he is the last I would have expected that of."

"Last excluding yourself, I hope you mean."

"Of course." He turned and touched his wife's cheek gently. "I'll never cheat on you, Elena, no matter what. But Gio more than any of us has always been a one-woman man. At any given time, even as a teenager, he's either been focused on a particular girl or, in between times, looking frantically for the next one to fixate on. He talks a good game, but he's not a player. Also, he's always aspired to be a family man, like our dad. And he loved his kids so much, it makes no sense he would just abandon them."

Federico enveloped his wife's hand in his and drew it to his heart. "Elena, every time I see him on that infernal TV show, I can tell he's miserable. I've been trying and trying for a long time to think how to get him back, but I have no idea where to begin. Because I have no idea why he agreed to go back in the first place. So I have to find out. I just want you to know if I seem distracted, that's why. It's nothing to do with you. With you, I'm completely happy."

Hearing her husband's heartfelt confession, Elena wrapped her arms around the man she loved and held him tight. She felt the sting of tears amassing in her eyes, because Fed's peace of mind meant everything to her, and she realized that left her with a dilemma not easily solved. For now she would say nothing. She needed time to think.

* * * * * * * * *

Beatrice lay on her back, wide awake, her stomach heaped skyward, sheltering her fast-developing progeny. Her husband snored softly beside her, his arm thrown carelessly across her body. These days her hormones were forever fluctuating wildly and right now they had her at her most lachrymose. Dear, dear Fabiano. He was such an angel to her. And at the same time such a devil, but in an adorable way. He tolerated her growing heft, catered to her endless demands for pasteles, and tended to her needs, making sure she took her vitamins, got plenty of rest and kept her ankles elevated to prevent swelling.

But how long could he take it? And what was next? Her children would be born and she'd probably still be tenting her pastele-engorged body in her maternity clothes for months to come. Caring for twins, she'd be exhausted, so he could probably kiss goodbye to the idea of her daily pleasing of his pants anytime soon.

A vision of Miss T—now the beauteous Misty—slipped into her mind. All right, the woman was a celebrity and engaged and therefore no threat. But how long before some other lovely caught Fabiano's eye and turned his head? How long before he tired of his wife's neuroses and demands and sought comfort elsewhere? Self-pitying tears began coating her face.

Although Beatrice wept silently, her husband somehow sensed her disturbance and abruptly emerged from slumber.

"B?" he whispered softly. "What's wrong, my little baby factory?"

"That's just it. I'm not little. I'm fat. I'm sweaty. I'm always yelling for you to help me with this and that. I'm so sorry, Fabiano. I don't deserve you."

"Aw," he replied, hugging her. "Now, mother of my children, you know I love helping you. I want to help. It makes me feel that I'm part of this whole phenomenon, too. When you start to get teary like this, you have to remember that's just the hormones speaking."

"Sometimes, I get worried you'll leave me, like Gio left Rachael."

"Well, I don't know what happened with them. But I do know you're stuck with me. If for no other reason than I'm looking forward to laughing myself silly watching you doing your aerobics with Livia, the two of you trying to whip your fat asses into shape again. Though, to tell the truth, your shape is to my mind rather pleasing as it is. Meaning, in a nutshell, you've never been bustier."

Hearing this, Beatrice relaxed. Fabiano's kidding rarely failed to wrest a giggle from her. "Fab," she asked meekly, "Will you sing to me?"

"Now I know you love me, if you want to hear my terrible singing," chuckled her husband.

"It's not so bad. Just think of a song."

Fabiano mulled that over for a minute. Then, only somewhat tunefully he began a lilting melody. Beatrice heard him half-chanting, half-whispering the words, and closed her eyes to drink them in: "You are so beautiful to me. You are so beautiful to me, can't you see? You're everything I hoped for. You're everything I need. You are so beautiful to me."

The Dominican baby-factory smiled, feeling the joy invade and suffuse her. All was right under heaven. Her life was perfect.

* * * * * * * * *

Calvino and Melissa lay naked on Melissa's brass bed, a mostly-depleted jar of chocolate sauce between them. Smudges of chocolate were still visible around their mouths and on their bellies and there was even a droplet of the sauce on the tip of Cavino's—oops, no more! "Whoa!" exclaimed Calvino, starting abruptly at the excruciating pleasure as Melissa flicked up that droplet with her tongue. He lunged at his fiancée but for the moment she put up her hands and held him off at arm's distance.

"Wait just a minute, mister," admonished the bride-to-be. "You haven't told me yet about your call to Cristoforo. Did you reach him? Is he coming to the wedding? Will he be your best man?"

"Oh, sorry not to mention it before, but yes he's coming. And he wants to be in the wedding. The only thing is—" here Calvino looked away, embarrassed, and drummed his fingers on the mattress. "Well, the thing is, he wants an upgrade in his role. Rather than best man, he's applying for the position of bridegroom."

Melissa could not believe her ears. "Well, then, I hope you told him that auditions have now closed and that that role has been awarded to another man! Really, Calvino, I'm sure he's very nice and all, but you and he are hardly interchangeable. Not from my perspective."

"You don't understand. He'd be a groom in addition to me, not in my place. Let me explain. You know he's been traveling around a fair amount, and it turns out that while over in Asia—that's where he is now, Siam I think—he met this girl. I forget her name—oh no, wait, I think it's Ruby, or something like that. Anyway, now he's in love and he's proposed and they're getting married, too. He was just getting ready to call me with his news when I called with mine. So the upshot is, he suggested a double wedding—you and me, him and this Ruby girl."

Melissa thought about it and was not altogether happy with the prospect. "Well, you know, your Uncle Tino married Auntie Livia in the same wedding as your cousin Feddy married Elena, and I admit that was beautiful. I really loved it and I know both those couples treasured the experience. But that was different. Livia and Elena were both Getties. All four of them knew and loved each other already. If it were just about your brother—well, I don't know him, but I'd be willing to accept him for your sake. But sharing my wedding with a woman who's a total stranger? Calvino, let me think about it. All right?"

"Sure, cutie, whatever you want. I mean standing beside my very own twin as we both took our vows—well, that's something I've always dreamed of. But it's going to be your day, too, and I want it to be perfect for you. Just tell me what you decide," he closed hopefully. And then he couldn't resist adding Mel's own mantra: "No pressure," he said.

Nothing more was mentioned about the wedding as they moved on to other pursuits. Glancing down, Melissa noted that her beloved was ready for their third bout of lovemaking that night, and so their passion consumed the couple—being young and possessing considerable stamina—for the next hour or so. Eventually, though, they lay spent in each other's arms. Calvino felt himself drifting off to sleep and leaned in to kiss his woman tenderly. "Good night, baby girl. Sweet dreams," he murmured.

"It's all right," answered Melissa.

"What?" he asked groggily. "What's all right?"

"Your brother and Ruby. The double wedding. It's true that I don't know them. But he's your brother and she will soon be my sister-in-law. If I don't know or love her yet, I'm sure I will one day, and sharing my wedding with her is a good way to get off on the right foot. And most important, if you want everything perfect for me, then I want it perfect for you, too."

* * * * * * * * *

Rachael saw Edward's eyes flash and sensed his anger as she tossed away the condom. Her husband never yelled, but suddenly his voice was icy. "My love, we agreed. We have Ricco and Vanna and we said they would be enough for us. I don't understand why you suddenly want to change the rules, but I'll tell you right now, I don't want that. Our family is the perfect size now. Look, the twins run you ragged already. How do you think you're going to cope with another baby while chasing around after two rambunctious toddlers?"

Tears of exasperation sprung up in Rachel's eyes. She had special news to impart and she had planned a special romantic evening so the two of them could share it privately, intimately, joyously. And now Edward was ruining it.

She remembered back to how she had told her now-ex-husband of her impending first pregnancy—on New Year's Eve, in a crowd, at a party. So delighted had Gio been to learn he would soon be a Daddy that he hadn't seemed to mind the public nature of her revelation. But later on, she had regretted her choice. Gio was not just another friend—an extension of the Getty swarm—he was her babies' father and he deserved to know before everyone else. He should have been able to share in the decision of how and where to break their news to the rest of the community. Perhaps that was some of what had gone wrong in their marriage. During their courtship, Rachael had put Gio ahead of her friends repeatedly, and that had gratified him. But once married, too often she had taken him for granted and given the Getties equal if not more attention, equal if not more sway in her life. Perhaps she had ceased to make him feel as special as a husband should.

But Rachael loved Edward more than she had ever loved Gio. Tall, handsome and pale, brooding and yet calm, he was the seminal love of her life, for her feelings towards him went back to high school. She was determined not to make the same mistake with him that she had made with her ex. All right, it was true she had broken down and revealed her secret to Nena, Fen and Melissa that afternoon, but only because she had felt the need to explain her refusal of Mel's invitation to be a bridesmaid. And her friends had promised not to pass the news on to others until she was ready. Now here she was, trying to express to her most dearly beloved the elation and wonder she felt at what had befallen her, and it seemed clear he shared none of those feelings.

His wife's tears alarmed the youthful lawyer. "Please, please don't cry, I don't want to hurt you. I-I just don't understand, my dear. Why are you trying to change the rules now, after we clearly agreed that another child was out of the question? And why make the decision unilaterally, without even consulting me?"

"I haven't made a decision!" Rachael threw back at him. "Nature did! It seems one of that brand of condoms you have such high regard for wasn't up to the job, because somehow you got me with child. I'm pregnant!"

Far from the rapturous response from her husband that the young Scot had fantasized about, the man looked stunned, maybe even horrified. "Look, Edward," she continued, "I know a new baby will add considerably to our workload, but we're young and strong. Lots of couples manage with three small children and I know we can, too. And think about it—a baby we made together out of our love for one another! Couldn't that be a brilliant experience?"

Unable to allow her distress to continue, Edward gathered her to him, one arm encircling her slim body while the other hand caressed her hair as her head rested against his chest. "Of course, brilliant, of course. I'm so sorry, Rachael. You just caught me off guard."

But behind the mask of equanimity his face had assumed, the man was in turmoil. For in truth, he—not she—was the one who had made a unilateral decision. He had come into the marriage not telling his wife the whole truth. In fact, no, he had not merely kept the truth from her, he had told an outright lie and he had told it again and again. Now he could not fathom how he would be able to let her know that he had brought disaster on them both.

Edward lowered his wife back down on the bed, and placed a gentle hand on her stomach. "So the child—it's in here?" He attempted a smile, though he achieved only a weak one. It was enough for the woman on the bed, who was now desperate for any sign of reassurance.

"Edward, I thought this would never happen, but it's what I've longed for. Please celebrate with me. Please be happy, too. Make love to me." And so for the first time in his marriage, he did something he had never thought would be necessary. He went through the motions of love. But in his heart, he knew he was faking it.


	6. Girls' Night Out

Chapter 6

~ Girls Night Out ~

After surveying the bar, Betty, Hilda and Christina chose a table and signaled for a waitress.

"I'm having a rum coke," said Hilda.

"I think I could go for that," agreed Betty.

"Oh, God, liquor! How I miss drinking!" moaned Christina. "Can't indulge now, though—bad for the Meade baby." Here she patted her extremely swollen stomach.

"Are you sure you couldn't have a cocktail just this once?" sympathized Betty. "You've been pregnant so long now the baby's nearly legal drinking age anyway."

"No, I guess I'll skip it. Even without liquor I seem to be seeing things. Like I could swear you're carrying an ugly baby yourself, Betty—as a purse!"

"So," piped up Hilda, changing the subject, "Did anyone else see last night's episode of _California?_"

Betty wrinkled her nose. "You still watch that thing? I loved the first season, when it was Rachael and her original college friends. I especially liked her 15-year-old cousin Sam. He was really cute in a nubile kind of way. Then they got rid of him, for some reason. After that it went downhill and I lost interest."

Hilda's expression, looking at Betty, said "Oh, pul-lease!" Hilda's mouth said, "You know why they got rid of Sam. It was when you were in that crossover episode making out with him. They got a lot of viewer complaints about that."

Betty twisted her napkin. "I don't think it was so terrible. It's not like he hadn't passed puberty by then. Anyway, after that, Rachael got really annoying and I got sort of sick of the whole show. Gio and Rachael were supposed to be such a big deal, but ha-ha, he left after that one season and came back here. Then they brought in all those Gio look-alikes trying to recapture some of his popularity."

"Which worked pretty well," noted Christina, and holding her hands like scales, she pretended to weigh the difference. "One Gio (her right hand dipped a little) or a ton of Gios (left hand sank nearly to the floor) – I know which I'd choose."

"Not me," said Betty. "I'd rather see the real thing. Anyway, then they hired all those guest stars, those actors from _Twilight_. When will they learn that viewers don't care about guest stars?"

"But it's getting really intriguing now!" pointed out Hilda. "If you were still watching you'd know that Edward's keeping a secret from Rachael. I think I know what it is, but I'm not saying, except it rhymes with 'campfire.' And guess what else, Melissa and Calvino are getting married!"

"Oooo," squealed Christina. "I love them. They're so cute! I hope they'll give them their own spin-off when the current show's cancelled. Though they do seem to have an awful lot of weddings on that show," she frowned. "Do you think it's because they're trying to hold onto ratings?"

"Nah," said Hilda. "Ratings are still okay. I'm sure it's so they can have plenty of honeymoon sex scenes. I LOVE those!"

"Speaking of Gio," interrupted Christina, "Are things any better with you two, Betty? Is he still sending you DVDs from around the world?"

At this, Hilda kicked Christina under the table, but too late—tears had already started to roll down Betty's cheeks in cascades. "He sends me DVDs all the time, but I don't know why. He never says anything about being more than friends." Betty sniffled and wiped her nose with her napkin. "And I've been trying so hard to be a good person for him. When he comes home I was hoping everything would change. I even thought of teaching my little Imelda to run to him and say 'Daddy' to play on his sympathy when he reappears, but then I was good and refrained. But now it will be too late anyway, because I'll be married to Daniel and . . ."

Hilda and Christina gaped at each other, and then back at Betty, crying out in unison, "You'll _WHAT?"_

"Well, I'll be married to Daniel. At least I think I will—he hasn't asked yet, but I've just been having this feeling that we should get together."

"But you and Daniel have always been like brother and sister," exclaimed Christina.

"Yeah, yeah, we are."

"And now suddenly you're sexually attracted to him?" a puzzled Hilda inquired.

"Well, no . . . no, I can't say that I am. He's handsome but he is sort of a dumbass, you know."

"So what's changed?"

Betty's face fell. "I don't know. I really don't understand it. I was hoping that Gio and I eventually would get another chance, but now it seems . . . I just have to marry Daniel. It's like a compulsion."

At this point, Christina's cell phone went off. She picked it up, listened and her face turned deadly pale. Hanging up, she grabbed for the edge of the table to steady herself. "Omigod, omigod!"

Hilda and Betty reached out and each took one of Christina's hands. "What is it? What's wrong?" they asked.

"That was my obstetrician. They've decided we should stop waiting for the Meade baby to come out on his own. Clearly he's decided he likes things cozy where he is now, so they're going to induce labor tomorrow. Oh, Betty, he must be between 3 and 4 feet long by now. It's going to really hurt, and I'm so scared. Will you come with me?"

Betty shrugged. "Christina, I wish I could, but tomorrow I'm scheduled to get my braces off."

Hilda screeched. "Betty, you didn't tell me! Your orthodontist decided they're ready to come off after seven years?"

"Yeah, funny thing," mused Betty. "On my last visit for a check-up, Dr. Farkas just happened to mention how Charlie's been hitting him up for child-support payments all these years. So I told him how her baby turned out not to be his but Henry's. When I said that, he yelled, 'Then I don't need your mon-, erm, I mean, wow, your teeth are straight!' And he told me to make the appointment to lose the braces. So, I guess it's time."

At this news, Hilda scratched her head. "Ya know? Something's strange here. All of a sudden Christina's having her baby, your braces are coming off, and you feel this strange compulsion to marry Daniel. Sounds like a lot of things changing at once. Sort of like an endgame—whatever that means. The whole thing makes me uneasy."

Betty patted Hilda's hand. "Aw, don't feel bad, big sister. There may be some new developments, sure, but it's hardly the end of the world as we know it."

But as the friends upended their glasses and called for another round, somewhere, sitting and listening secretly in an undisclosed location as dastardly men of power are wont to do, Darth PRIVATE chuckled. "Oh, maybe it is, Betty. Maybe it is."


	7. Wet Rossis

Chapter 7

~ Wet Rossis ~

Monday dawned warm and sunny. A great day to take a break from the pizza palace, thought Federico and Elena. Packed into their jeep, the couple headed south down the coast to meet up with Ontrelle and Christy for recreation.

"Say, Doll Face," Federico addressed his wife cheerfully, "What's the news about Aunt B and Aunt Livia? Surely at least one of them is going to pop within the next day or two."

"No signs of it yet. I was just over there last evening, and damned if they aren't just as fat and lazy as ever, not a hint of contractions for either one. Soon they're going to be so big they won't fit into those Lexuses. When the time comes, the uncles are going to have to tip them on their sides and roll them to the hospital. But wait a minute! Back up there, boy!" she admonished, slapping his arm. "Did you just call me Doll Face?"

"Merely trying it on for size," Feddy grinned sheepishly. "What do you think?" He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

"Well, okay if you must, but I don't feel much like a doll face. Actually, what I love the best is just having you say my name in that sexy voice of yours."

Hearing his voice thus complimented, her husband blushed with pleasure. "E-le-na," he intoned. "Elena, Elena, Elena." Suddenly he burst out singing the song 'Maria' from _West Side Story,_ only substituting his wife's name, "Elena . . . say it loud and there's music playing, say it soft and it's almost like praying, Elena, I'll never stop saying Elena."

The object of his affections grinned widely. "Now that's perfect," she pronounced. She pondered a moment and then added, "You know what I could never figure out, though? You, Federico, have a beautiful, beautiful singing voice. Gio, on the other hand—well, I've heard him sing and his voice is . . . interesting. How can two twins with presumably identical vocal cords sound so different?"

"We may have been born with identical vocal cords, but when we were tiny our Mom used to play French and Italian operas all the time. Gio hated opera. Mom would pop in one of her CDs and he'd cover his ears and run hide under his crib. I, on the other hand, had a taste for it for some reason. She especially liked _Carmen_ and I became very taken with 'The Toreador Song' and 'L'Amour Est Un Oiseau Rebelle'—sang them over and over again, even though the last one's a woman's aria. So my vocal cords got quite the workout from early on."

"Aw, I wish I could have heard you warbling away in your high little boy's voice. You must have been adorable."

"Naturally, _that_ goes without saying. Of course, eventually Gio developed a taste for singing, too, but he came to it in his teens and by then his voice had grown, well, unique. He particularly liked to beatbox in his weird falsetto." Federico was growing pensive now. "Y'know, our voices may not match, but I'd give anything to have my brother right here joining me in a duet."

Silently Elena chided herself for raising what she knew to be a painful subject for the man she loved. She let her hand rest softly on his knee as he drove, and after a pause, he placed his hand on hers and squeezed it gently. But a minute later both spouses were distracted from the sweet melancholy of their private moment. The jeep darted unexpectedly to one side, and their ride suddenly became bumpier.

"Damn! Feels like a blow-out!" Federico stopped the car, ran around to the back and brought out a jack and tire iron, which he handed to his wife. He then broke out the spare tire and rolled it towards the front driver's side wheel, where a large jagged rock which had torn a crater into the depths of the rubber. As Feddy worked, he reprised his earlier musical rendition. "The most beautiful sound I've ever heard . . . E-le-na." Watching his labors, Elena was amazed anew at her great luck. She had landed a man who was not only handsome and brimming with high spirits, but also deft at mechanical tasks, plus he could sing. His astonishing stamina in bed was just icing on the cake. Very yummy icing.

Then, as her Feddy was tightening the final bolt, a very rude red Honda Civic shot past them, splashing up mud from a nearby puddle. The tire-changer's hair, blue work shirt and levis were instantly soaked. Annoyed, he stood, shook his wet head, then unbuttoned and flapped his shirt attempting to mitigate the drenching he had absorbed.

"Here, better take that dirty thing off," Elena said stripping the wet garment from her man's back. She then stepped back and eyed the result approvingly. "Now that's an attractive picture," she declared. "My beautiful husband wet _and_ naked to the waist." She thought about that for a moment and then frowned. "Only one problem with what I'm seeing," she added.

"I know," responded Feddy, "You're thinking, 'wet and half-naked—now how am I going to tell him apart from Ontrelle?'"

"Wait! If I know your cousin and his proclivities, there's an easy solution." Elena beamed in anticipation. "I'll just get Ontrelle to remove his pants!"

* * * * * * * * *

"Oh, come on, Lanzo, give me that washcloth, won't you?"

His skin pink from the rivulets of steamy water running over his naked body, Lanzo assumed a sulky face, reluctantly handing over the limp blue square of terrycloth. "I thought I was doing a superb job of cleansing you. What are you whinging about?"

Lathering the cloth with fresh herb-scented soap, Juna raised it to her neck, meanwhile placating her man. "Honey, you've outdone yourself as far as you went. I don't think my boobs have ever been cleaner. But if I'm going to get to work on time, I really have to abjure this indolent pace, which means it's time to forego further work on my mammary region and give a little attention to my neck, shoulders and back."

"I can do that!" exclaimed her lover, grabbing the washcloth back playfully. "Rotate on your axis!" He pressed a hand on one of her shoulders, urging her to spin around. The lady turned to face the tiled wall..

Upon moving in together, the couple had adopted a routine of sharing their morning showers—the better to conserve water, or so they maintained. But Lanzo had ways of coaxing Juna to linger twice as long under the warm spray as she had ever done previously, thereby compromising any claim they might make to ecological virtue. For example, right now he was gently scrubbing her back with the washcloth in his right hand while using his left thumb to gingerly massage tender points and knotty muscles. The result was a heavenly release of tension. Juna purred with pleasure.

Sadly, despite the steamy bliss they derived from their morning ablutions, their damp dalliance eventually had to end. Lanzo reached out of the stall for a single huge, plush towel and wrapped it around both their waists. Thus swaddled together, they stepped out onto the bathmat. Lanzo reached toward the sink to retrieve his glasses. After wiping the steam off the lenses and donning them, he picked up Juna's glasses, as well, and slid them over her ears and nose.

Now, seeing her beloved face more clearly, he couldn't resist taking it between his two hands and pressing his lips ardently against hers, allowing his tongue to seek out the mintiness previously imparted by her pre-shower tooth brushing. Juna melted into him appreciatively, extending their intimacy a few moments longer.

Finally, she drew back and reached up to tussle Lanzo's damp hair. Tilting her head to one side, she contemplated his bespectacled countenance. "Lanzo, have you ever considered wearing contact lenses?"

"No, why would I?" He sounded a wee tad offended. "I always thought my glasses gave me a jaunty Indiana Jones sort of look, the way he appeared in the classroom, you know."

"I hate to break it to you, but you look more like Paul McCartney."

"Hey, wasn't he always called 'the good-looking Beatle'?"

"I think that was George."

"Well, if George was called 'the good-looking one,' then I'm pretty sure Paul was known as 'the _extremely_ good-looking one.'"

Suddenly catching sight of her lover in the glass above the sink, Juna realized that even in what she considered to be unfortunate glasses frames, a wet, naked Lanzo bristling with overnight stubble was the sexiest thing she had ever seen or ever wanted to see again through the fog on her mirror. "Extremely good-looking doesn't begin to describe it," she murmured.

* * * * * * * * *

Christy was wallowing in Christy-heaven as she sat gazing towards the ocean. She knew she was looking spectacular in her expensive new bikini and her brand new fashion sunglasses. A plethora of fashion catalogs, delivered by the postman that morning, were stacked tall on the beach towel for her perusing pleasure, and the stunning new purse lying nearby was brimming with credit cards, close at hand should a sudden shopping emergency arise. Best of all, she had a rapturous view of her man, naked as the Lord made him, standing aloft a magnificently blue surfboard skimming across towering waves that he seemed to rule like the god Neptune.

Abruptly the sound of a slamming car door interrupted the sunbather's reverie. Turning her head, she spied Federico and Elena strolling towards her on the sand. Uncharacteristically, Feddy was stripped to the waist.

"Hi, Elena!" shouted Christy. "And Feddy, mmmmmmmmm, looking good, showing those muscles. If it weren't for your shorter hair, I'd be at risk for confusing you with _my_ guy!"

"Well, at least I've still got my jeans on, unlike Nature Boy, there!" Federico pointed at his cousin who had now emerged from the waves and was approaching them, glistening with beads of water, his surfboard tucked under an arm. "Look, no pants, Elena," Fed added, "And you didn't even have to ask." Then, waving to his cousin, he called out, "Hey, Ontrelle, what's with this surfing in the middle of winter?"

"Oh, it's a bit chilly, I admit, but you know me and the ocean. I can't stay away! Over time, I've gotten used to cold water."

"Cold! It must be freezing—the result of which, incidentally, is that you're saluting us from below the waist. You might want to cover up for the ladies."

"Oh, don't mind me!" piped up Elena. "Go ahead and be comfortable if you want, Ontrelle."

"Yeah, no problemo for me, either. I'm used to it," added Christy.

"What, are you afraid your lady's gonna start making comparisons, cuzz?" teased Ontrelle.

"Yeah, Feddy," challenged Christy, "What size shoes do you wear, anyway?"

Elena leapt to defend her man. "He wears 10 ½ M and actually those fit quite tight. He's always complaining they're squeezing his tootsies."

Now Ontrelle jumped in to keep the peace. "Whoa, never mind, I myself have no idea of my shoe size. I just go around barefoot or in flip-flops. Anyway, I have some swim trunks I can put on. They're in our beach duffel in my car. I've got some clean jeans, too, if you'd like to borrow them, Fed. Yours look filthy."

As the men strode off, the sexy young lawyer whispered to her fellow Getty, "Rossis—don't you just love 'em when they're wet?"

Elena plopped down beside Christy, and surveyed her friend's tanned and smiling face. "Looks like you've found a pretty perfect life for yourself, Christy. You and Ontrelle seem happy. When you first met him, I wondered how long it would last between you. I mean, he's hot, naked and muscle-y and all that, but I would have said you're a lot more sophisticated. However, somehow the two of you seem right together."

"Well, you know, he does like to get naked, but only when it's appropriate, like on this private beach. And, why not? He has a bod to be proud of! But don't let that fool you. He's self-educated—well-read and always interested in new ideas. I think people underestimate him because of his build and his, erm, wardrobe. But once he gets his restaurant started on Rossi Row, you and all our friends can see him at work, and I think you'll be impressed."

"So, are the two of you in love or is this more like a pleasant fling?"

Christy absently dug one foot into the sand, letting grains of it run between her toes. "That's a good question. For awhile, I thought it was just me being lonely and Ontrelle being a fun guy and great at—well, you know! But the truth is, I've realized for awhile now that I'm falling in love with him. Not a word, though, I haven't even told him yet. But truly, Elena, don't think he's a dolt—or an exhibitionist. The nudity isn't really about sex or even about his fine, fine muscles—it's about feeling free. His Mom was telling me that ever since he was a little boy, she couldn't keep him in his rompers. I gather there were a couple incidents in kindergarten."

"He took you to meet his mother? I guess this _is_ serious. Everybody knows he adores Gina—kind of a mama's boy, in fact. He must be falling pretty hard if he wanted you two to meet."

Christy blushed. "I don't know. I hope so. You other Getties seem so happy with your Rossi men. I wouldn't mind joining the pack. Things are good with you and Feddy, aren't they?"

"Pretty much," agreed Elena. But Christy saw her friend look out to sea and grimace a little.

"Except what, Elena?"

"Tell me, does Ontrelle ever talk about Gio?

"Actually he does. I think he misses him quite a bit. Oh, they weren't nearly as close as Gio and Feddy, of course. But before escaping the Ugly Betty Land universe, Gina and Ontrelle lived in New York for awhile. Since he's not a city boy at heart, Ontrelle wanted a job that would allow him to work outdoors and Gio found him a gig driving one of those carriages with horses that tourists ride in Central Park. In return, he'd help out at Gio's Deli when things got busy. During that time, they got to be quite fond of each other. Can I take it that Feddy's been talking to you about his twin?"

"Oh, Christy, he misses him so much, and I think it's getting worse. We tivo _Ugly Betty_ every week. We have to fast-forward through the non-Gio parts, because Feddy really hates Betty, so we just watch the Gio videos. Each time we see him, Feddy becomes more convinced that his brother is not where he wants to be, that somebody is holding him there against his will. He thinks some sort of blackmail is involved, though. He doesn't realize, of course, that Rachael essentially sold her ex back to PRIVATE and that the money we're banking all our dreams on is actually blood money she got for collaborating with the enemy."

"Yeah, I worry about Ontrelle finding out, too. He's not as obsessed as what you're describing, but he doesn't like Gio being so far away and I know the Rossis talk amongst themselves. I think they're getting increasingly agitated and want to bring him back somehow."

"That's what I've been afraid of!" By now Elena had jumped up and was pacing anxiously in circles around her friend's beach towel. "Damn, I don't know what to do. I mean when Gio first cheated on Rachael with Nena, I was appalled. So when Rachael first made her deal with PRIVATE, I thought he had it coming to him. And I have to admit, when Rach was so generous with her payoff, the cash looked pretty good to me. And I realize it would be awful for the rest of the Getties if our guys find out what we did. But, Christy, I love Feddy more than anything in the world, and it kills me to be living a lie with him."

"Yeah, I have to admit that over time I've come to realize we never actually got to hear Gio's side of the story. Maybe there was an understandable reason for what he did. And even if he did screw up royally, it seems a shame for him to be estranged from his kids. Do you remember how they used to adore him? It made me very uncomfortable how Edward moved in on that family so quickly and smoothly. I'll bet those kids wouldn't even know who Gio was if he came back now."

"What kind of a lawyer is Edward anyway? Have you ever had dealings with him on the job?"

"Oh, he's brilliant. And his manner in the courtroom is mesmerizing. But he's also prepared to be completely ruthless on behalf of a client. I'd hate to have to take him on. When he's in top form presenting a case or making closing arguments, he becomes so charged up, you could swear he almost sparkles. But I know he's truly devoted to Rachael and her kids, so no need to worry there. It's just that they've left no room for Gio in Vanna and Ricco's lives."

Elena sat back down and slipped an arm around her friend's shoulder, giving her an affectionate half-hug. "Thanks for listening, Christy. It's so good to have somebody to talk to. I've been feeling so guilty and so scared."

Christy wrinkled her brow. "So, it sounds like you've been deliberating over whether you should take some sort of action. What are you considering?"

"Nothing for now. I've been trying to think how I can help my husband without having to betray you and our friends. Not to mention I'd like to find a way to make things right without Feddy learning the truth and hating me. Let's just hope _Ugly Betty_ gets renewed, because every week the guys can watch and check out Gio on his global trek buys us time."

"Well, Ontrelle and I don't watch that show any more. He doesn't have the best memories of Betty, either, you know. But for our own sakes, let's hope it goes on and on."

"Yeah, for now we have Calvino and Melissa's wedding coming up, not to mention multiple births. Livia and B's four babies can't hide in the womb absorbing pasteles and pizza forever. After all that's over with, maybe we'll have time to tackle this problem."

* * * * * * * * *

"Here's to more family dinners. The sons of Angelo Rossi, united forever!" Lanzo and Antonino clicked glasses. "By the way, great wine choice, Lauren!"

The brothers and their girlfriends were sitting on the balcony of Lanzo and Juna's apartment, sated from the spicy daube Lanzo had just whipped up on the stove and from the home-churned spumoni contributed by Nino. Lauren and Juna high-fived. "Of course, it's great! It's the Getty Girls' official wine, Chateau Montelena. Glad to hear that it suits the Rossis, too."

Nino nodded approvingly. "Too bad Feddy couldn't be here to share it, too. I gather he and Elena had another engagement, but I like it when all us brothers get together now and then."

"Not all," Lanzo reminded him with a sigh. "We'll never be a complete family unless and until Gio returns."

Juna and Lauren glanced at one another anxiously. Juna cleared her throat. "I've brewed some coffee and it's in that carafe over there. Why don't you men remain on the balcony and enjoy your coffee and cigars. Lauren and I will clear the table and then retire to the drawing room for a nice ladies' chat."

The men threw her a puzzled look. "Cigars?" inquired Lanzo. "I think we'll skip those, but by all means, coffee would be nice."

As Juna and Lauren slipped into the kitchen bearing dirty dishes. Lauren raised her eyebrows in a question, "Coffee and cigars? Retire to the drawing room? That's a bit quaint, isn't it? Not your usual way of talking, Juna. What's got into your head?"

"I guess it's your fetching accent and your English complexion and that way you have about you, Lauren. Sometimes you seem like a heroine dreamed up by Jane Austen, and when I'm around you something suddenly gets me conversing like her characters."

"Well, it _is_ a truth universally acknowledged, that a single Rossi in possession of sweet dimples and a good mustle-y torso must be in want of a wife. Jane would be the first to acknowledge that. Are you and Lanzo moving in that direction by any chance?"

"I don't know. He hasn't said anything. It's been making me a little leery of signing over the money I got from Rachael for his school. What if we later broke up? What would be my stake in the school? I might not want to work there any more. On the other hand, I'd hate to be the vindictive type and pull the financial rug out from under him just because we didn't work out. What about you and Antonino? The two of you seem awfully lovey-dovey."

"I guess I'm in the same place you are. We haven't been talking about a wedding, and that's fine with me. I haven't decided for sure that I want to stay in this country, and I still have so many things I want to do with my life. On the other hand, where would I find a gorgeous, wonderful, romantic guy like my Nino again? A marriage with him _could_ be brilliant."

"What are your thoughts about the money?"

"Originally I was hesitant to invest in the ice cream parlor, just like you with the school. But, you know, when I took the money I didn't really understand how Rachael got it. Now that I know, it really seems to me that it should belong to the Rossis anyway. I mean, unbeknownst to them, they sacrificed one of their own for it. Somehow withholding it just wouldn't seem right."

Lounging on the balcony, Angelo and Francesca Rossi's oldest and youngest sons saw their womenfolk heads together, brows furrowed, deep in conversation. "It appears that our women are conjoined in a serious colloquy," remarked Lanzo.

"As usual, I understood about three words in that sentence," complained Nino. "Maybe Juna's throwing her own high-falluting vocabulary at Lauren and has her similarly baffled."

"I doubt it. You're underestimating the depth of Lauren's internal lexicon. It's true she's a knockout, but you need to pay more attention to her mind, bro. You've got a special girl there."

"I know, I know. She's too good for me. I've been wanting to ask her for a bigger commitment, but I'm afraid she'll say no."

"Then just wait. When the time is right, you'll figure it ou . . . Hey, what's going on down there?"

Upon hearing squealing tires followed by a loud thud, both Rossis leapt from their chairs and rushed to the railing. Below, a car was winding a wobbly path down the street and lying in its wake was a toppled U.S. mailbox. A moment later, a grating sound rose from the curb and Nino let out a shout, "Hey, he sideswiped my car! Damn! I want that guy's license number." Unfortunately, he quickly discovered he couldn't budge the balcony's sliding door. They were trapped.

"What? Are we stuck out here?" asked Lanzo, annoyed. "Get their attention. Hey, Juna! Lauren! Open up!" But deep in conversation, the two Getties were oblivious of the men's entreaties. Unfortunately, at that instant a raindrop landed on Lanzo's cheek, causing him to gaze skyward. Almost immediately the sky opened its faucets and heavy sheets of rain descended on the balcony and its prisoners.

Both men pounded on the door and yelled insistently. Roused from her consultation with Juna, Lauren giggled and waved to her lover. "Look, Juna, my favorite treat. Wet Rossis! Do you think we should let them in? With all that rain, their shirts are transparent and sticking to their skin. What could be sexier?"

"Aw, let me feast my eyes a moment more. Then tonight, I'll make it up to Lanzo privately, if you catch my drift. In the meantime, what you were saying about the money—I agree that it would be wrong to withhold it from Gio's family, but I also think they'd be furious if they used it for their own business purposes and then later learned where it came from. I'm thinking that the money might better be used to find a way to bring their brother home."

"Good point, Juna. I'm not sure how to explain not putting it into Rossi Row, though. Let's think and then talk again soon."

By now it was apparent to the brothers that they were at the women's mercy and would be made to wait for their release. "Oh well," shrugged Nino. "We've missed our chance to get that guy's license number, but under the streetlight I could at least see the car was a red Honda Civic."


	8. A Tale of Two Airplanes: I Westbound

Chapter 8

~ A Tale of Two Airplanes: I. Westbound ~

Sitting in the waiting area of the gate from which her plane was scheduled to depart for the USA, Justicia Bee checked her watch for the sixteenth time that morning. The studio that was slated to film her novel _When Hell Freezes Over_ had arranged first class tickets to fly her from Norway to California, and currently she was changing planes in London. Boarding of the plane was delayed, however, pending the arrival of two important passengers, and Bee was growing increasingly impatient, ready for her American adventure to begin.

All of a sudden she heard a commotion and whipped her head around. A swarm of people were moving down the concourse leading up to her gate, but making slow progress. The crowd seemed focused on a short, bewhiskered, ridiculously attractive fellow accompanied by a beautiful young African American woman. Surrounded, the couple pressed forward only with difficulty. This was because, one by one, their fellow travellers were approaching to solicit hugs from the man, which he granted affably. The women wrapped their arms around his neck and maneuvered to press their faces against his stubble. The boldest among them ventured so far as to kiss his cheek. The males proffered the man-hug, which combined a bearlike embrace with much hearty clapping of his back.

His lovely companion looked on, for the most part smiling but detached. Occasionally, one of the men would attempt to hug her as well, but that would cause her to stiffen and wave them off with an apologetic shake of the head.

Bee recognized the couple at once as celebrities. The man she knew to be the actor Freddy R, whom, coincidentally, the studio had signed for the lead role in her own motion picture. The woman was his fiancée Misty, the hot new star in the TV show _Broadway Undercover,_ which was currently creating a sensation on four continents plus the Dominican Republic. Although they had never met in person before, Justicia and Misty shared a special connection: they were both Getty Girls.

The novelist stifled an impulse to go greet the popular pair at once, realizing that they would probably be travelling together in first class anyway and would have an opportunity to talk then. Instead, she cast her eyes around at other passengers occupying the chairs close to hers. There was a dashing man, his dark hair streaked with gray at the temples, talking in animated Italian with a younger fellow and two teenage boys. All four bore a strong family resemblance to each other. They reminded her of somebody, but for the moment she couldn't quite put a finger on who.

Nearby a handsome gentleman with a high forehead was thumbing through a sports magazine. Bee's pupils dilated appreciatively as she drank in his scrumptiousness. She imagined him bowing his head over her hand and introducing himself gallantly. She imagined the two of them rapt in conversation, their eyes locked on each other's faces, impervious to the crowd. She imagined him naked. . . . Whoa, at that moment he glanced her way and caught her looking him over. Uh-oh, she wondered, could he have read my mind? The answer to that remained ambiguous, for seeing her eyes still on him he blushed and quickly returned to his reading. "Oooo," thought Bee, "I hope he'll be in first class!" At this point, though, her daydream was interrupted by a hand tapping her insistently on the shoulder.

"Justicia, I didn't realize you'd be on this plane!' It was none other than the head of her London publishing house Bromfieldhall Books, a novelist in her own right as well as a publisher, who was flanked by a woman carrying a designer Italian tote bag.

The Norwegian turned to face the woman addressing her. "Yes, here I am, Katrina, and I see you're with yet another Getty. How are you, Roman?"

The lady so addressed responded in a Canadian accent, "I'm fine. I've just been over in Italy gathering extensive background material for my next novel."

"Again? Didn't you also have a previous one set in Italy?"

"Yes, I try to set them all in Italy, so I can keep gathering lots of background color, you see." She looked at her friends wistfully. "Now comes the hard part. I have to stop gathering background color and go home to write." Rubbing her derriere, she added, "And to heal."

"Ah, you've met the Italian male population and their pinchy fingers, I see. I always return from Italy black and blue and absolutely purring. Okay, you have to go home now, but think on the bright side—there's always the next book to research, isn't there? And you know, you _could_ pick up and move to Italy whole hog if you wanted. Just bring along plenty of Ben-Gay for the bruises."

"Believe me, I've thought about it. Well, except for the Ben-Gay on my butt part"

"Whew!" inserted Katrina, "There sure are a lot of us Getties on this plane. I see Miss_T's headed this way, too. _Omigod, she's with Freddy!_ Do you think we could go hug him?"

Bee shook her head. "Pul-lease, not now! We're late enough boarding already! We'll all be at Melissa's wedding, so hopefully you'll get your chance then. But there's still one Getty who's missing, one I expected to see on this flight."

Suddenly, a blood-curdling yell rang out, "Death to Betty!"

"Aha!" exclaimed Justicia, "I think that's her now! Hey, Lynnie, I heard that! Where are you, girlie?"

* * * * * * * * *

Even after Freddy R and Misty arrived at the gate, it was a half-hour before boarding began. The hug-fest perpetrated by Freddy's fans kept up ceaselessly until finally a check-in girl went on the intercom and issued an order for the actor's admirers to _cut that out_ and allow the man some peace. Next the voice on the intercom announced that all those travelling first class should prepare to board, and invited Mr. Rodriguez to move to the head of the line. At first Bee assumed that this was simply a courtesy to a v.i.p. traveller who was suffering an undue amount of curious attention. She realized otherwise, however, when she noticed that all the gate attendants were now lined up at the door leading out to the plane, waiting to claim a hug of their own.

"Nice," thought the young author. "We'll be on the ground until midnight at this rate." In truth, however, her exasperation had ebbed, for the delay was allowing her extra time to chat with those among her friends who would not be travelling first class, namely, most of them. "So, Katrina, how's your love life, hunny?"

"Oh, I don't know," the publisher sighed impatiently. "Pretty so-so. I just broke up with one man who was a sweet guy, but also a nerd. Not my type. And before that there was a musician who was into clubbing and name-dropping and just generally talking about himself. Why can't I meet a Darcy or a Wentworth or some devastatingly handsome, old-fashioned romantic hero?"

"Duh, dream on," Bee snorted. "There are hundreds around like that—in old novels. Good luck finding one in real life. Back me up, won't you, Lynnie?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Bee," answered Lynnie. "You know I've been travelling quite a bit as part of my dream analysis tour, and during my journeys I've been pursuing extensive research the nature of dreams and what their sources are. Some of what I'm discovering suggests that there are more old-fashioned guys roaming this earth than you and the Getties ever imagined It's true, dreams can tell you more than you think. My partner Sal and I will be using this wedding as an opportunity to meet up and share new insights on what we've each found out about the nature of dreams. And what I've learned may just provide some hope for romantic suckers like Katrina here."

* * * * * * * * *

On board at last, Bee noted that there were only seven passengers ensconced in first class, herself included. A family of four—two of them young children—kept quietly to themselves. Misty and Freddy R occupied the first row. Apparently Misty had tagged Bee for her fellow Getty, for she now made her way back to the last row, where Bee was seated and wrapped her in a friendly embrace. "Justicia," she exclaimed, "I'm such a fan of your books and now I get to meet you at last. I'd introduce you to my fiancé, too, but for the moment he's tied up." And indeed Freddy had his hands full right now—literally!—ringed by a bevy of flight attendants each awaiting her own shot at a clinch with the captivating cutie.

Although disappointed, Bee felt she could afford to postpone a meeting. Eventually, she would be working with the Puerto Rican thespian on the movie anyway, and in the meantime there would be Melissa's marriage to Calvino. "Listen, Miss_T, will you and your Freddy be at the wedding next weekend?"

Misty threw an anxious look at the actor and his harem of fans. "I'll definitely be there, but Freddy . . . probably, but I'm not sure. I don't speak for him." A cloud seemed to pass over her sunny face, but after a moment dispersed. "By the way, in your movie, do you know who's going to be cast opposite Freddy as his Swedish girlfriend? He's been wondering about having them audition his friend Rachael T. He worked with her before and," here she tossed an irritated frown in her fiancé's direction, "she's excessively talented at acting lustful towards him. And she's blonde, as Anna should be. On the other hand, she's Australian, not Swedish . . . "

"Oh, I don't know. I'll be on the set working with the scriptwriters, but I don't have any say in casting. I just hope they _don't_ cast a Swede in the role—can't abide 'em, you know," Bee added with a wink. "Oops here come the rest of the passengers. They're headed right through here, so I guess you'll want to get back to your seat."

"Yes," said Misty a bit apologetically. Her eyes skipped over the two empty seats next to the novelist. "I hope you'll have a nice flight. You seem to have nobody here to talk to."

"No I don't. Still, that's fine. I've brought a good book, and best of all I've printed out years worth of _Ugly Betty_ reviews by Crabby. So I'll probably be rolling in the aisles—literally. Have a good trip, gal!"

* * * * * * * * *

Suddenly the central aisle of first class was flooded with passengers jostling their way towards the coach section. Lynnie, Katrina and Roman had secured seats together toward the rear, with Lynnie in the window seat and Roman on the aisle. In the row just ahead of theirs the debonaire middle-aged Italian was carrying on a lively conversation with one of his teenage relatives. The second teenager and the young man—an older cousin, perhaps?—sat silently in the next tier forward. The adolescent's eyes were closed and his head moved from side to side rhythmically, apparently stirred by music pulsing up through the earphones on his ipod.

The cousin, paler than his kinsmen—if that's what they were—stared dreamily out the oval window beside him. Despite his modern jacket, dress shirt and slacks he exuded an other-worldly air. Katrina, searching the overhead bins for a space in which to stow her on-flight bag, suddenly felt eyes upon her, and glancing down saw that the cousin was now gazing at her as though at an apparition who had suddenly materialized before him. As she slammed closed the door of the now overflowing upper compartment, he cleared his throat. "Constanza?" he croaked at her, a question mark seeming to dangle in his low, husky voice.

Ah, just a case of mistaken identity, realized the publisher, stifling a small sigh of disappointment. He thinks I'm a former acquaintance. His face radiated true beauty, and although he was clearly younger than her, the woman he'd just addressed would not have been sorry had the soupçon of interest dawning in those solemn features been born of a more personal attraction to her. As it was, she shook her head ruefully. "No, sorry, that's not me."

Roman rose from her aisle seat and stepped out to let Katrina squeeze past her to the middle one. "Katrina," she whispered, "Did I see that handsome young man say something to you?"

"It was nothing, just a case of mistaken identity. I believe he thought he knew me. . . . Did you notice, though, how much he and his companions look like Gio's relatives?"

"Sure," Roman continued in a low voice, "Those adorable dimples on all of them."

"Sssshhhh," hissed Katrina, "They were speaking Italian, but they may know some English, you realize."

"I doubt it. They were on my plane over from Italy and I never heard a word of anything but Italian."

Nevertheless, just then, the adolescent directly in front of her spun his head to flash her a broad grin, suggesting that perhaps he _had_ understood her utterance. He spoke not at all, though, leaving the ladies in some suspense as to how much of their exchange had been comprehended by the neighboring group. At any rate, the Getties and the Italian party paid each other no further overt attention as they waited for take-off.

* * * * * * * * *

"My feelings are hurt."

The message that reached Bee's ears would have sounded sulky, had they not been pronounced in the most charming English accent. Turning to her left as Misty returned to Freddy's side, Bee saw that an eighth first class passenger—the man with the high forehead from the take-off gate, no less—had now claimed the position just across the aisle from her. He was currently regarding her with a reproachful expression, through which the hint of a smile nevertheless peeked through.

The novelist felt as giddy as a girl who'd just been approached at a junior high dance for a spin around the floor. Thank you, Santa, she mused. Aloud she said, "Did you . . . excuse me, were you speaking to me?"

"I heard you tell that young woman that you had nobody to talk to here. Can I gather, then, that you intend to ignore me for the whole flight?"

"I assure you, I didn't see you sit down. I'll be happy to keep you company, providing you promise to be provocative and fascinating."

The man's pout deepened, but at the same time the twinkle in his eyes seemed to brighten. "That's a tall order. I can promise nothing, but I'll try my best. My name is Archie Crumb, by the way. Listen, I recognize that woman you were talking to as an American actress, though I can't recall her name. Are you an actress, too?"

"No, a writer."

"Interesting—and it seems from your accent that you're not an American yourself, are you, or a Brit either. A lovely Swede, perchance?"

"Bite your tongue!" Bee pulled herself up tall and haughty in her seat. "I'm a Norwegian, thank you very much."

"Oh, sorry," the charmer seemed taken aback by her response.

"Well, now you know. Never mind, no harm done," she spoke forgivingly. "And may I ask how you make your living?"

"Mmmmm, I'm afraid I won't be answering that. It will have to remain a secret."

"Aha, I suspected it! What you do is too hush-hush to talk about."

"No," the man laughed. "Just too embarrassing—okay, if you must know, I'm a sales executive for feminine hygiene products. Please don't hold it against me."

Though a bit disappointed to learn he wasn't a spy or private detective, Bee was content to ignore his profession. Her mind was too busy thinking about the things she would _love_ to hold against him. Really tight against him.

* * * * * * * * *

As the plane became airborne, Roman settled into her seat. "So, Lynnie, let's catch up. What were you doing in England?"

"Most recently I was staying with my old friend Maggie--UKhere from the forums. We had a blast."

"UK? Is she not coming to the wedding? I'd love to meet her in person!"

"No, you know Maggie. Every time you get to talking to her and the conversation gets interesting, she has to rush off to work. Work, work, work, all the time. She can't even get off from her nursing job to make the trip, more's the pity."

"Damn, you know she would have been like a cow in clover, with all those Gio look-alikes that will be at the ceremony. I'll bet she's wild with envy."

"Indeed, she would have loved to be there, but she got the next best thing today. She dropped me off at the airport and when she let me out, Freddy and Miss_T were just arriving. So what did she do, but leap out of the car, jump over a couple luggage carriers piled with suitcases, and throw herself into his arms."

"So she was the one to give him his first hug of the day, it sounds like."

"Oh, she gave him more than that. She gave him one nice slap on his comely butt. And, do you know? He smiled. I think it made his day. But with all those Italian guys pinching your backside, I guess you pretty much know how he felt, Ms. B.G. Roman."

"B.G. Roman! B.G. Roman?!" A sudden, sharp cry issued from the row in front of them. An instant later, the face of the oldest of the Italian men popped up over the back of the seat just in front of Roman, his handsome face contorted with outrage. "You! You are B.G. Roman? You are that villain, that devil?"

"Hey, I guess he speaks English," commented Lynnie. Beside her, Roman sat frozen, alarmed at the unexpected bile being spewed in her direction.

"You have make my nights a misery! You disrupt my work! _Perché? Perché?_ Is it your evil goal to make me suffer?" Her attacker's fury increased and his accent thickened as his accusations mounted.

"Me? I don't even know you. What did I do?" retorted Roman.

"_Io vi maledicono!_ You and your infernal cliffhangers. I read your books. That's right, you have me addicted. Me, Sergio diRossi! And each time I think, oh, I will put this down at the end of the chapter and get some sleep, or I will put this aside for later and go to my job, no! It does not happen! Because you hook me with cliffhangers and lead me on! Oho, I do not envy the man in your life, not at all, for I'm sure you tantalize and torture him day and night!"

Roman could not help but betray a whiff of smugness. "I didn't realize you're a reader of mine. In that case, yes, you have caught me out. Making you suffer is just what I intend, if it keeps you reading. But admit it, you love it, don't you? I bring a bit of fire, a bit of intrigue, a bit of passion into your existence."

"Well, . . . yes, I admit you do." Her attacker appeared to deflate as he focused more closely on her defiant countenance. "Still, I swore if ever I met you . . . Of course, I didn't expect you to be so lovely. . . . "

Roman felt her face growing hot. "I-I don't know what to say to that."

"Say you will come up and sit by me and apologize. My son here will move over to the empty window seat—_sposta, Giacomo!_ You owe it to me, B.G. Roman, you know you do."

"Whoo-hoo, Roman, better do as he says. He sounds like he means business," goaded Lynnie. "Go get 'im, woman."

An abashed but pleased Roman moved forward, drawn towards those flashing eyes in spite of herself. Meanwhile, Katrina slipped from her seat and made her way to one of the rest rooms at the tail end of the plane. Having completed washing up and checking her make-up in the mirror, she turned the knob on the door to release the latch.

At once she felt the door fly open, pressing her back into the tiny area behind her. The young man who had accosted her earlier now pushed his way into the bathroom, filling up what little space remained. His eyes bore into her as words poured from his lips, hoarse and urgent, "_Constanza, so che sei tu! So che il tuo volto. So che la tua voce. So che i tuoi occhi. So che la tua bellezza. Non pretendo. Io ho amato voi attraverso i secoli. Si prega di confessare. Non si può immaginare quanto ho fame per te?"_

Frightened, feeling his hot breath on her face, his body inches from her own, Katrina protested, tossing her head back and forth vigorously. "I don't understand! I don't understand!"

But the man confronting her failed to register her alarm. Driven by an obviously violent passion, he grabbed her wrists and forged on, "_Come ha fatto ad arrivare qui? Come lei ha trovato me—il tuo Bassanio? Dimmi, come avete sconfitta tempo? O Constanza, tu amo!"_

Katrina pulled her arms back wildly, trying to free herself. "Stop! Stop! Please, in English! I don't know Italian! I don't understand!"

Abruptly, cognizant at last of her desperation, the young man dropped her arms and pulled back through the doorway, standing aside to let her pass. His broad shoulders drooped as he whispered in heavily accented English, "Oh God, I'm so sorry. You are not her. I hoped . . . so alike . . . but now I see it. You are not her. Forgive me. Please, please say you do."

He seemed to be fighting tears back, and his erstwhile captive found herself pitying him. "Of course, of course. I'm sorry I'm not this person you seem to miss so much. Are you all right?'

He nodded numbly, and tramped slowly back to his seat, deflated and desolate. Lynnie, heading toward the restrooms herself, noted the two figures emerging from the closet-like space in close proximity. Her eyebrows shot up. "Katrina, were you and that guy joining the the Mile-High Club?"

Her friend shook her head. "Nothing like that. He . . . oh, never mind." She was too bewildered by what had happened to try explaining.

Too bad, mused Lynnie to herself, he seems to be just what Katrina needs.

* * * * * * * * *

Two hours into the flight, Archie Crumb had slid over to claim the seat next to Justicia Bee, who had moved further in toward the window. Four hours in, he had taken her hand in his, ostensibly to examine the beautiful emerald ring on her left middle finger, a prize she had picked up in Luxembourg recently. But having granted the ring a brief gaze, he had clung to the hand, seemingly hoping that Bee would think he'd forgotten to release it. Obligingly, she was happy to thus deceive herself. When six hours had gone by, he ventured to offer a proposition, though a gentlemanly one (Curses on gentlemanliness! thought Bee). "I say, old girl, is there a chance that I might see you again, while we're both sojourning across the puddle?"

Bee hoped her cheeks were not flushing intensely enough to reveal the true extent of her excitement. She wanted to maintain a cool façade. Overeagerness might scare her prey away. "I don't know. Where are you going, and when will your mission be over?"

"Mission?" the word seemed to startle him.

"Whatever you came here to do."

"Oh . . . erm, attend a tampon convention in Oregon, actually, but that will only take a couple days."

"Well, I'm going to a wedding in California on Saturday. I could use an escort, so how would you feel about heading down the coast and joining me?"

"That would be fun," he responded. But just then Bee noted anxiety creeping into his eyes. Perhaps, after all, she had been too forward and he wasn't really interested.

"Please feel free to say if you'd rather not," she reassured him. "You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"What?" he blinked at her absently. "Oh, you mean about the wedding. No, I look forward to it. It's just, well, I was wondering—who the hell's flying the plane?"

"The pilot, of course! Or one of the two co-pilots if he's taking a break."

"Think again," retorted her new friend, pointing toward the front row of first class. And there she saw it, the two men and one woman in their airline uniforms and caps had all emerged from the cockpit and were lined up by Freddy R, who was seen scrambling to his feet.

"Don't worry," soothed Justicia, "You _have_ heard of automatic pilot, have you not? I'm sure they just want to take a moment to hug F-Rod and then they'll head back to their cabin."

"And who can blame them?" At her words, her companion relaxed visibly. "Damn, that's one likeable looking guy!"

* * * * * * * * *

The plane was circling now, ready to touch down in Atlanta as soon as orders from the tower came through. The three Getties in coach were by now chatting amiably with the two Italians immediately in front of them, both of whom, it turned out, spoke English quite well. The older of the two was a well-known filmmaker—Sergio diRossi from Florence—who traveled frequently worldwide and had made many trips to America. His English, while noticeably accented, was fluent and voluble as Roman had learned to her chagrin. However, by now his hostility toward Roman was so far forgotten that he had ventured to acquire her cell phone number and had traded his to her in return. They had become friends.

The adolescent next to the widowed Italian, the lad who had grinned mischieviously at the women early in the trip was his son Giacomo. The boy had attended an American boarding school for several years, and spoke English like a native. The younger teen, occupying the seat in front of his brother's was Sergio's younger son Zanipolo. His relatives explained that he spoke no English, which explained his reluctance to join the conversation.

The fourth of their party they described as a long-lost cousin, Bassanio diRossi., of whom they had only recently made the acquaintance. Since his encounter with Katrina he had sat motionless and sullen, seemingly wrapped up in his own world.

As the plane touched down, Sergio swiveled to meet Roman's eyes. "It seems this leg of our journey is over. Does this mean we must part company?" The look he exchanged with her clearly communicated that he hoped that the answer was "No."

"I'm not sure. Where do you go from here?"

"All the way to Southern California. There's a film festival I'm attending in Santa Barbara, and after that I'm taking the kids to Disneyland. Bassanio's just along as my guest."

"Today I'm flying home to Canada for a couple days. But there's a wedding we're all attending this coming weekend in California, and the bridegroom's name is Rossi—Calvino Rossi."

As the parties gathered their carry-ons from overhead and made their way up the ramp to the airport, Roman continued, "I know you said you don't know about any American cousins, but the resemblance between you four on the one hand and Cal and his kinfolk on the other is so strong that I'm convinced you must be distant branches of the same clan, sharing a common ancestor back in the mists of time. I'd like to invite you all to attend on behalf of our Rossi friends. I'm sure they'd be delighted to meet you. Now, the bride is a Getty Girl, which means she's a member of a select sisterhood to which the three of us also belong. Our sisterhood, by the way, includes a few teens among our number who I think would have fun showing your boys around. What do you say, Sergio?"

By now, the parties were passing an alcove filled with phonebooths. As the others forged ahead, Sergio suddenly drew Roman into the alcove, where they found themselves alone. "Tell me, Roman, are you asking me to be your date?"

She blushed and looked at her feet. "Well, I don't know . . . I mean sure, why not?"

He stared meaningfully into her eyes. "Then I accept your invitation, for I would enjoy making the acquaintance of new relatives. Still, my main reason for saying yes—can you not guess it?" His face moved closer to hers. Their eyes were inches apart as he locked her into his gaze. Their lips were inches apart, too. "I surmised earlier that you were the kind of woman to tantalize and tease the man in your life. And now you have told me that no such man exists. But, Roman, maybe he does exist, for I think I want to be that man."

Roman held her breath, waiting to see if her new suitor would kiss her, but abruptly he turned on his heel and walked off, following after his sons. "Well, how do you like that?" thought Roman, "Damn it, Sergio, you know how to pull off a cliffhanger of your own!"

Further along the concourse, the other two Getties parted company with the younger diRossis, for the latter were overnighting in Atlanta before moving on, whereas Lynnie and Katrina were connecting with an express flight to California leaving in a couple hours. Before separating, though, Katrina caught up with Bassanio, who had sat silent and shell-shocked for the many hours since he had turned away from her on the plane. Gingerly she touched his arm. "Bassanio, I'm glad I met you. I hope someday you'll find again the woman you are looking for."

"You are wrong, I am not looking, for I know I will not find her." His voice choked on his own words. "She has been dead to me these many, many years and then, for a breathtaking minute, she was alive again in you. Forgive me if I don't linger and converse, for seeing your face right now—it is unbearable." He raised his hand and brushed her cheek with it. "Si bella, si bella," he murmured, then turned and melted into the passing crowd.

* * * * * * * * *

Lynnie caught up with Justicia Bee just leaving the gate area, and the two women headed to the nearest airport bar. "Let's duck in here for awhile, Lynnie, why don't we? Freddy R is making the same connecting flight as we are, so you know it won't be leaving anywhere near on time."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to go to find Freddy ourselves now and get him into a nice Freddy sandwich?"

"Nah, let's wait for the wedding. I'm assuming he'll be there. In the meantime, have we lost Katrina somehow?" inquired Bee of her friend.

"I think she went after her bathroom buddy."

"Her what?"

"She had some sort of encounter with a beautiful young Italian fellow in a vacant restroom on the plane, and it seems to have shaken them both."

"_Katrina?"_ Justicia let out a whistle of amazement. "Who would have thought it? Do you think she joined the Kilometric Altitude Association, if you get my drift? _That_ would be exciting."

Lynnie shook her head. "She denies it, and—more's the pity—I believe her. But if I know my business, there's more to that young man than meets the eye. He's not done with her yet, no matter what either of them thinks."

"Lynnie, you've certainly been saying some mysterious things today. What's gotten into. . ." But Bee halted the thought in mid-sentence. Grabbing her fellow drinker's arm, she exclaimed in a low voice, "Don't look too obvious, but steal a glance over there." Lynnie adjusted her seat to garner through the bar's mirror a view of the tableau to which Bee was referring: four chiseled-jaw men arranged around an almost dollhouse sized table, drinking and muttering amongst themselves.

"What about them, Bee?"

"The one with the high forehead, the handsomest one? He _says_ he's a feminine hygiene products sales executive on the way to a tampon convention."

"Well, an odd profession, but . . ."

"But Lynnie, he's supposed to be on a plane by now headed for Oregon. So why's he here, and who are those other guys? Do they look like tampon salesmen to you?"

Lynnie shrugged.

"And why," continued Bee, "Are they all sipping martinis shaken, not stirred? I've got a date with him for the wedding, but something's just not right."

"So blow him off."

Bee's eyes dropped. "I-I can't do that." She twisted the emerald on her finger nervously, recalling how Archie had bent attentively over that hand. "Lynnie, I'm afraid I just have to see him again. No matter what happens. I want him so bad. Oh, Lynnie, I'm _smitten!"_

"Well, if you're smitten, you're smitten. All you can do is go with it. But if you're going to be going off on a romantic tangent, listen to Aunt Lynnie and heed my motto." Here she leaned in, pausing to cock an eyebrow meaningfully, and solemnly intoned, "Sex kills."


	9. A Tale of Two Airplanes: II Eastbound

Chapter 9

~ A Tale of Two Airplanes: II. Eastbound ~

"Ha-ha, that's pretty good!"

Occupying a table in the Sydney airport's Food Court, Sal glanced up at the stranger addressing her and felt her cheeks turning pink. To entertain herself, she had taken out her pad, turned it landscape and, toward the left side, had sketched four young women wearing teeshirts at a table at some distance from her own. The quartet were ogling a handsome young man standing in line to purchase sandwiches at one of the counters across the way from them. Sal had drawn in the sandwich vendor and his customer over on the right. Then she had taken an orange pen and speckled the rear end of the young man's jeans with tangerine color lipstick kisses. More kisses were portrayed leaping off the teeshirt girls' mouths and flying through the air, with orange lines showing their paths to their target.

The stranger by now had lowered himself to the chair next to her and was offering his hand in greeting. "Hey, can I buy that from you? I'd like to show it to my twin brother. He should get a kick out of it. Oh, and my name's Matteo—Matt for short."

Sal's blush deepened as she realized that her new companion was practically an exact double of the young man in her picture, only the man beside her had longer hair. "You can have it for free, if I decide to let you have it at all," she replied. "But I'm not sure that creating impertinent cartoons of a new acquaintance's derrière is the best way to make friends."

"_Au contraire,_ I promise you it's exactly the best way. And if he objects, which I guarantee he won't, I'll make you add longer hair and a mustache and it could be a picture of me." He leaned in to scrutinize her artwork more closely. "Hmm, we brothers sure have got a great butt! And, I must say," her new companion added, peering teasingly at her from under long dark eyelashes, "it's pretty . . . ahem . . . _cheeky_ of you to draw it. By the way, do you mind me asking what's your name?"

"Sal."

"Pleased to meet you, Sal. You sound like you're from around here. Australia, I mean."

"I am. But I'm on my way to America right now to visit friends. And you're American yourself. Am I right?"

"Sure, you picked up my accent. That wasn't hard to guess."

"Well, if you'd allow me a further guess, it would be that your last name is Rossi."

Sal was gratified to see her brash inquisitor's jaw drop. "Excuse me, have—have we met before? I'm embarrassed to say I don't remember it, and I think that I would."

"Not exactly, but I've seen photos of many members of your family and there's a definite resemblance. Here's my last guess: you and I have seats on the same departing flight today."

Matt pulled an airline ticket from a carry-on travel bag that lay at his feet. "I'm on United Airlines Flight 1278."

Sal now had hers in her hand. "United Flight 1278," she reported triumphantly.

A slow grin eased its way across Matt's face. "All right, I know there's a logical explanation for this."

"There is. You see, I'm on my way to the wedding of my friend Melissa in California. She's marrying a man named Calvino Rossi, who could be your triplet. Are you and your brother not on your way to the very same wedding?"

His eyes widened in wonder. "We are indeed. But you finally slipped up. Cal is our cousin, not our triplet. In fact, he's got a twin of his own—Cristoforo—and they're both a few years younger than we are. We do have a brother who looks a lot like us, though—a slightly older brother. His name is Valentino and he's actually in love with an Australian, though they both live in California now."

". . . and that Australian's name is Stephanie."

Matt threw his hands up in defeat. "Wow, I can't tell you anything. You're way ahead of me. . . . Oh, and here's my twin now. Eliseo, come meet Sal. She's an artist, and she just completed a portrait of you, emphasizing your best feature."

"What, my dimples?" The shorter-haired Rossi clone strode up to Sal and attempted to look over her shoulder at the sketch pad. Sal rapidly turned the pad face down in her lap, while Matt responded, "Not exactly. Your back was turned when she was working."

"Okay, then it has to be my sweet, sweet ass."

"And you, sir, have the winning answer!" shouted Matt, grabbing the sketch pad and presenting it for the newcomer's amused perusal. "And ya know what else? She's a buddy of Melissa's and Stephanie's. She'll be at the wedding."

"Are you a Getty Girl then?" Eliseo slid the pad back across the table towards her.

"You know about Getties?"

"Actually, Matteo and I have dates with Getty Girls for the wedding. They're sort of pen pals of ours, named Fen and Nena. Any inside info on them you could provide would be appreciated. Do you know them? What can you tell me about Fen?"

"Well, she's little but she's spirited. At times ferocious, especially when her Boston sports teams are attacked."

Sal saw Eliseo's eyes meet Matteo's, and he nodded in satisfaction. "Great, I like the short feisty ones, and I could tell from her letters she's got a great personality. How about Matt's date, Nena?"

"Oh, Nena's hot stuff. She's from a Latino background and famous for her cookies." A moment later Sal wondered if she'd revealed too much. She looked anxiously at Matteo, who immediately intuited what was on her mind.

"It's all right," he reassured her. "I know about her and our cousin Gio and how he was tempted by her cookies. She told me herself, almost as soon as we started writing one another. I know she was involved in the breakup of his marriage and that she feels very sorry about it. That's over now, and I gather she's still friends with his ex."

"Nena isn't a bad girl," explained Sal. "But Gio was so handsome and charismatic, his advances hit her like a ton of bricks. She couldn't resist. I think what she felt for him was more than attraction, but in the end she was loyal to her Getty sista Rachael."

"So you thought Gio was handsome?" Matt asked, raising his eyebrows in amusement.

"Well, sure, the way he looked . . ." All of a sudden, Sal realized that the natural implication of what she was saying was that she found the two men beside her handsome, too.

"I imagine Gio found you extremely attractive, also," Matt's face moved closer to hers, as he smiled into her eyes, holding her gaze without wavering. The young Australian's eyes slid to the side, discombobulated, as she realized he was brazenly flirting with her.

To escape Matt's stare, she turned to his brother, "Anyway, I think you two will hit it off with both Fen and Nena. Fen's a good person, and despite the fling with Gio, so is Nena."

And now a voice just behind the threesome spoke up. "Gio's not around any more, anyway, so that's a chapter that's closed."

Sal's head spun around, and then she jumped up to hug the woman who had just put her two cents in. "Paula! You're flying out today, too? That's great!"

As Sal dove at her friend, Paula dropped her purse. Some of the contents tumbled out, including her wallet, which sent coins spewing across the floor. Sal's two companions leapt up to chase after the loose change, as did a young man from an adjacent table. Paula thanked each of Sal's new friends as they returned part of her treasure to her. The handsome young stranger handed over the rest, and Paula extended a hand to him. "I'm Paula . . . and I'm grateful. That was kind of you."

"Jacob here. My pleasure, Paula." With that the two parted company without a single further thought of one another. Little did Paula realize that she had just met her fate. It would be 15 years before they crossed paths again, and when it happened, this incident would be beyond the recall of either one. In the meantime, she turned back to her Getty friend.

"Paula, let me introduce some of Gio's relatives—and Calvino's. This is Eliseo and Matteo. They're Cal's cousins, and they're on their way to the same wedding as we are. Gentlemen, it's going to be an interesting trip."

* * * * * * * * *

Matteo and Eliseo were among the first to board the plane to California, and were comfortably settled in their seats when they saw Paula making her way down the aisle of the plane past them to a seat somewhere in the rear. They waved as she went by. A short while later they noted Sal stopped by a seat up ahead, shoving her carry-on bags into the overhead bin.

Matt nudged his brother. "Hey, Sal and Paula are pretty cute, aren't they? If Fen and Nena turn out not to like us, maybe we can hang out with those other two Getty Girls."

Eliseo shot him a disbelieving smile. "Our dates not like us? Like, when has that ever happened?"

"Oh, yeah! You're right! It is to laugh," chuckled his twin. "Too bad, Sal and Paula! . . . But listen, Eliseo, you know what Valentino was saying about getting our own place on Rossi Row? Have you been thinking it over some more? You were saying you'd like to have your own bar."

"Well, let's check and see how we like California. If so, I 'd say it's a green light for me. I realize we've been pretty footloose for the last few years, but you know, we're grown-ups now, Matt—have been for some time. Maybe it's time to start settling down and establish something to build our lives on."

"But I have my photography."

"Yes. On the other hand, when—honestly—have you ever made a living at that?"

"If I pursued it in a more diligent way . . . "

"Fine, fine. And I know you weren't happy that we just got one-way tickets to America. You really liked Australia, didn't you? But, bro, I do feel the urge to start putting down roots, and I'd like it to be near family. The founding of Rossi Row seems to offer the ideal opportunity, don't you think? Especially with our extensive bartending experience. Come on, say you'll give it a chance. I can't imagine doing this thing without you."

"Yeah, I can't see breaking up the team, either. I don't know how Federico stands it, being separated from Gio for all eternity. That's got to be horrible. If that happened to us, I think I'd want to shoot myself. I mean, I'm not suicidal or anything, but," and here he clapped a fond hand over his twin's arm, "I'd be miserable without you around."

"Me too, me too," nodded Eliseo. "But, hey, don't go getting all man-hug on me, okay?"

* * * * * * * * *

It was a relaxed flight. Only about half the seats were filled, and the plane glided smoothly through the clouds with glimpses of the dark greenish-blue ocean darting by below. After awhile Sal tired of her magazine and stuck her head out in the aisle to check for Paula's whereabouts. She spotted her fellow Getty in another aisle seat 12 rows back and across the aisle from her own. Scampering back to where her friend sat, Sal noted that the three seats opposite Paula were all empty, so she plopped herself down in the nearest one.

"Hey, Paula, what's happening in your life lately?"

"Nothing that exciting, other than this trip. No significant romances to speak of, but then I'm not anywhere near wanting to settle down yet, so that's all right. Oh, one thing. I've started taking advanced swimming lessons. Who knows? Maybe I'll wind up a lifeguard."

Sal lowered her voice. "Listen, I wanted to ask you about what you've heard from the other Getties about this Rossi Row thing. Beatrice's latest emails have contained a little about it, and then I hit on Lynnie to see if she had more information, but she's been traveling, so is a bit out of the loop right now."

"Stephanie wrote to me and explained that each of the Rossis wants to open their own eating-related establishment, all close to each other. A lot of the wives and girlfriends are getting involved, too. But it seems a lot of the Getties are having their own anxieties about the project, because it appears that it will be largely bankrolled by the money Rachael Cullen sent them a couple years back."

"Why should that upset them? These are their life partners, aren't they? Don't the women want to share?"

"It's not that." Paula leaned in conspiratorially. "Sal, how much do you know about where that money came from?" Here she glanced cautiously down the aisle at where she knew the Rossi twins to be lodged, about seven rows forward.

"Don't worry," reassured Sal. "They're far enough away that they can't hear us over the hum of the engines. And in answer to your question, I understood from Rachael when she sent me my share that it had something to do with Gio's return to Ugly Betty Land. I think Rachael must have brokered the new deal between PRIVATE and Gio."

"That's not quite correct, I'm afraid. Actually, Gio had no say in the matter. You know, it was PRIVATE who engineered Gio's falling through the crack between the two universes—Ugly Betty's and ours—after he hit his head in an accident. The big cheese has always had the ability to force Gio back to the place where he originated, if only he could pin him down at any single moment. Rachael, who was livid with Gio at the time, arranged for that to happen, and the money she sent around to all of us was part of her extremely generous payoff from PRIVATE. Those who know Gio better than we do don't believe he'd have ever gone back on his own. Not with his children still here with Rachael. Especially not with another man waiting in the wings to step in and raise them."

"So by accepting the money . . . "

"We Getties have all become complicit in her actions. Some of the girls feel guilty about that, while others believe Gio got what was coming to him. But now so many are in love with Gio's relatives, they're afraid of the truth coming out. And it seems that the more the Rossis see of Gio on _Ugly Betty,_ the more convinced they become that he's there under duress and the more determined to save him. And to get revenge."

"Whew," Sal let out a long whistle. "That sounds bad! You know, I love Rachael and all, but what a mess she seems to have dragged us into! I myself have held off on spending any of my share of the loot, and I must say I'm glad I did. What about you?"

"I've spent a bit of it on travel. But, then, like you, I've only recently learned the whole story."

"Hmmm, I wonder if Lynnie knows the truth behind this. I'm glad that I'll be seeing her soon. She always seems to have the best advice for any dilemma that comes up in any of our lives."

"That's right! I forgot you two were partners. The dream business, right?"

"Yeah. And I've discovered or, anyway, figured out some startling new information on what dreams are really about. I can't wait to talk to my main woman about it, and she says she has some research to share, too."

"That sounds intriguing. But in the meantime, this Rossi Row idea . . ."

". . . seems about to blow up in the faces of all our friends." Sal shook her head sadly. "Up until today I thought Calvino's and Melissa's wedding would be an amazing celebration of the unity between Getties and Rossis worldwide. But from what you're telling me, I fear that this may be a last hurrah before that alliance explodes like a dirty bomb."

"I agree. Something beautiful may be coming to an end. Let's try putting our heads together and figure out how to make it not be so."

* * * * * * * * *

An hour went by and the two Getty sistas wandered on to other topics, but the solemn dilemma posed in their early conversation continued to weigh heavily on both their minds. Eventually, Sal excused herself to visit one of the rest rooms at the rear of the plane. Heading aft, she noted that the only passenger sitting farther back than Paula was a young Asian woman bundled up in a blanket, her face turned toward the window.

A few minutes later, as Sal was making her way back to her own seat, she was surprised to see that the dozing woman's face was now turned toward her and that it was a face she recognized. Grasping the woman's shoulder with her hand, she shook her gently, admonishing her in a low voice, "Wake up! Wake up, Laura, it's Sal. What are you doing on this flight? Laura, come on, wake up!"

Laura, who had been Nadie but was no longer, moaned slightly and opened her eyes haltingly. Squinting at her accoster, she murmured a puzzled "What? What is it?"

"Laura, it's Sal. You know, from Australia. I wasn't expecting you on this flight. Did you decide to attend Calvino and Melissa's wedding?"

Soon it came out that Laura was not only attending the wedding, but had been invited at the last minute to serve as maid of honor. For that reason, she had hastily arranged a flight from Korea, which entailed changing planes in Sydney. The invitation had puzzled her, because she had not had much direct communication with Melissa and was sure that the bride must have closer friends she could ask. However, Laura told Sal, Melissa had sent word that her first choice, Rachael, had begged off due to her pregnancy. Therefore, Mel would be most appreciative if Laura would be willing to fill in. She was even paying Laura's way, wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Hmmm, that fits," said Sal. "I mean, on the one hand, everyone knows how kind and accommodating you are, so it would be natural for a Getty to turn to you as an answer to a last-minute upset. And on the other hand, Melissa's a little doll who wouldn't want any Getty excluded from this special celebration just on account of distance. Actually, you two are so sweet that any diabetics who got caught in a room full of Lauras and Melissas would soon be rushed to the ER for resuscitation."

"Well, this is the dream of a lifetime for me," admitted Laura. "To finally be with all my internet friends who I love so much. I've met very few Getties in person—and only one Rossi."

"You met a Rossi over in Korea?"

"Yes, he was a roadie with a second-rate rock band I ran into on the street. Well, actually he ran into me. Plowed into me, in fact. He was carrying some heavy equipment from a van into a club they were playing at. The equipment was very large and blocked his view. He did not see me and next thing I knew I was lying on the ground. The Rossi boy dropped all the speakers and things—I learned later he broke some and was fired—and knelt down to check on me. When I looked up, all I could see was that Rossi face, those Rossi dimples. I just knew he had to be one of them. I asked, and he said yes he was. His name was Carlo. After that we hung around with each other a few days and became friends. Nothing more, except that he did kiss me when he left. He had very little money, you see, and had to go home to the U.S. One reason I said yes to Melissa is I'm secretly hoping he'll be at the wedding. Even if he was clumsy, he was sweet and funny, and I really miss him."

"Sounds like you've got one big crush on the guy."

Laura smiled and, looking shyly down at her hands, she nodded. "You know what?" declared Sal. "I'm happy for you, having a guy to feel that way about. Especially a Rossi—they're something special. I hope you find him there."

* * * * * * * * *

As the two women chatted, the voice of the pilot came over the intercom to warn that they were heading into choppy flying conditions. He asked that all passengers return to their seats and buckle up. Immediately the plane began to bump around. Grabbing onto the backs of seats as she moved forward, Sal started wending a wobbly path back to where she had been assigned to sit. Part of the way along, though, the plane bucked hard, throwing her off balance, and she collapsed against a nearby arm rest.

"Look at that, I knew she was falling for me!" All at once Sal felt a strong hand grab her wrist and guide her into an aisle seat. Recovering her balance, she turned and looked up into the teasing smile of Matteo Rossi in the middle seat, with Eliseo grinning over his shoulder from his place by the window.

"Hey, Sal, join us for awhile, why don't you? The captain just wants you sitting down. He really doesn't care which seat you're belted into."

The young Australian happily acceded to Eliseo's invitation. "So what were you guys talking about before I interrupted?"

"Just a business idea we're considering. Our brother and some of our cousins are opening food establishments in Cali—Rossi Row, maybe you heard about it. We were thinking people might want something to wash all those munchies down with. So we're weighing the proposition of starting up a bar nearby."

Sal's eyes lit up. "That's the perfect addition to Rossi Row! People can wind up the day hanging out at your place, shooting darts, playing backgammon, listening to a local musician now and again. . . . "

Matt scowled a little. "Hey, whose bar is this anyway? We mention it and in two seconds flat you've got it all mapped out how to run it."

"No no, Matteo," chided Eliseo. "She's right. Darts, games, music—those are ideas we can use." He turned to face Sal again, "Unfortunately, we have no credit—good _or_ bad—so raising the capital to invest in the business could be a problem. Now, if you could just figure out a way for us to get the money. . . ."

"Gee, I dunno. Are you aware the other guys are financing it with money from their wives and girlfriends?" Sal grinned facetiously. "Maybe you two will luck out and hit it off fast with Fen and Nena."

Matt's scowl deepened. "Even I draw the line at asking a woman for major cash donations on our first date."

Eliseo laughed, "Relax, Matteo, can't you see she's just kidding? But, really, Sal, you seem to have an enterprising and inventive mind. If any ideas come to you, please let us know."

"Well, here's one, guys. Let me lend you the funds myself. I have some that I'm not using and, for reasons I need not share with you, there would be a certain poetic justice in putting it to use for a Rossi project."

Eliseo and Matteo looked at each other, but what the look conveyed was a mystery to their companion. For a moment, not a word escaped any of the three of them, and in that interval the pilot's voice floated back to them, announcing that landing was imminent. Finally, Eliseo spoke, "We'll think over your offer. Maybe we can discuss it later. But do you mind me asking how you come to have spare money put aside? I'm curious, what do you do to earn your daily bread, Sal?"

"That money I mentioned is from the same source as with the other Getties—Rachael Cullen. But as for my profession, I'm an artist."

"Oh, yeah, that sketch of my ass. Very amazing. You can support yourself on pieces like that?"

"Not just that. I do sketches and cartoons, sure. But also painting, collage, photography—and I've been Art Director on a few indie films."

Matteo raised his eyes to her face with new interest. "I—I'm a photographer, too, but I've never figured out how to make a living at it."

Sal wondered silently what that said about his level of talent. Aloud she asked, "Well, how commercial are the things you choose to photograph?"

"Probably not very. If you could give me some advice . . . I'm having my cameras and portfolios shipped separately, but they'll be in Cali shortly. Would it be imposing . . that is, would you take a look?"

"Well, don't get the wrong idea, I've managed to keep body and soul together, but it's not like I'm some raging success yet."

"But still . . ." his beseeching look was puppy dog irresistible.

"Sure, I'll be happy to . . . "

Their ride had smoothed out in the last few minutes or so, but at that moment the plane lurched violently.

"Oh God, what was that?" Sal cried out. The Rossi brothers also looked serious and a bit shaken.

Matteo replied, "Probably nothing to . . . Whoa!"

Sal heard herself scream. Suddenly the plane had begun to drop precipitously, nose down. She experienced perfect fear now, more intense than any she had felt in her lifetime. Through the windows she saw the earth flying up at her at an alarming rate. She was about to die. Her stomach flipflopped, fighting back nausea and she felt her heart contract into a tight, hard knot in her chest, an infinitely dense little ball of pure terror. Her breathing seemed to have stopped.

Then suddenly, she felt a powerful arm around her, encircling her, enfolding her against a muscular chest. She became aware of a firm but gentle hand cradling her head. She was still afraid, but the hard little ball in her chest dissolved and dispersed. Her breathing started up again, measured and rhythmic. She still knew she would die, but maybe death would be cushioned, like falling onto a pillow. And she would not die alone.

Abruptly and unexpectedly, the plane straightened and touched down, not with a crash, but with a splash. They were floating. Okay, death would come not by falling but by drowning. She had read somewhere that those were the two innate fears babies are born with. However, after a minute it became clear that while the plane was sinking, its descent was slow. There would be time to escape.

Sal lifted her eyes seeking Matteo's face and saw it permeated with relief, the dimples deep and emphatic. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. She felt his arms drop away now, releasing her.

"Thank you for what?"

"For holding me."

At that he laughed and chucked her chin. "No, sweetheart, thank _you_ for giving me somebody to grab onto!"

By this time the flight attendants were stirring, snapping to their duties, herding their wards toward emergency exits. "Please step along, miss, this way," a young woman in a pixie-ish brown hair cut instructed. And more loudly she shouted, "Nobody attempt to open the overhead luggage racks. Just exit quickly and calmly. Stay in line, please, people, there's time to get you all out."

Stepping out onto a wing of the plane, Sal opened her lungs to take in huge gulps of the fresh ocean air. Seeing coast guard boats and private yachts amassing around the slowly sinking fuselage, she now believed for the first time that she would continue to live. She looked toward the rear of the plane and saw Paula and Laura emerge and descend down a chute to a floating platform. She waved and they waved back.

Somewhere behind her, Eliseo was punching his brother's arm. "Ouch, what's that for?"

"You could have hugged me, you know, not some stranger you just met. What were you thinking?"

"Oh yeah, as my life flashed before me, I sat there pondering the pros and cons, making my decision. Do I hug stinky old Eliseo? Or do I hug cute, soft, warm Getty girl? Stinky or soft-warm? What to do? What to do? You idiot, I went with instinct, what can I say? And, frankly, it didn't let me down."

At this Eliseo let out a bellow, equal parts amusement and the relief that comes as an antidote to severe shock and horror. "Hell, don't you know I'm kidding? You did just what I'd have done had she been sitting by me. In fact, the woman's lucky she wasn't seated between us, or we'd probably have torn her apart tussling to embrace her!"

Matteo patted his brother's back. "Have I told you I love you, bro?"

"No, you have not! And don't start now like a wuss. Let's just give thanks that whatever that was is over."

* * * * * * * * *

It would take Customs hours if not longer to sort out the rescued passengers, many of whose passports were now sinking into a watery grave. However, an outbuilding near the shore had been commandeered to allow the detainees access to friends and relatives anxious to embrace and claim them.

Eliseo and Matteo passed through the doors of the structure and instantly spotted Valentino beckoning them over wildly. Within moments, the three brothers had collapsed into each others arms. Fen and Nena, anxious to meet their pen pals at the soonest possible moment, had traveled to the airport with Valentino and Stephanie earlier in the day. Valentino now pointed out to the twins those two compact ladies standing and waving from the edge of the crowd.

Meanwhile, Sal, Paula and Laura were gathered together elsewhere in the room, at a distance away from the little Rossi reunion. From her vantage point, Sal saw Matteo and his brother give their future dates the once-over and slap each other on the arm, smiling, the way men do when they're overjoyed to find the girl they've been fixed up with has more to offer than a "fun personality."

Suddenly, for a heart-stopping moment, the young Aussie felt herself reliving the sensation of Matt's arms encircling her in the maelstrom, imparting to her somehow his own steadfast resignation. A wistful pang of melancholy pinched at her heart as she saw him accept a hug of greeting now from Nena. But, no, she told herself. That's a good thing. Those guys are here to stay—to rejoin their family and embark on a new business venture. It was nice that they had a bit of female companionship lined up to ease them into their new social sphere. And in fact Nena was artistic. She might actually prove a good match for the young photographer. Sal herself would be heading back West to her own continent after the wedding, happy to have made them her friends and continue on her way.


	10. Just a Little Lovin' Early in the Mornin

Chapter 10

~ Just a Little Lovin' Early in the Mornin' ~

Elena tried to cling to the thread of the dream she was having, but nobody could withstand the poking and jabbing that Federico was now administering and still remain wrapped in the webs of sleep. Lying beside her, he started to shake her shoulder.

"Go away. Don't you have to run make Livia's pizza?"

Feddy swore to himself impatiently. She knew very well that he always put together that special delivery pizza at night for Johnny to bake and drop off in the morning.

"Elena, Elena, come on," he muttered. "It's time for exercise!"

"Exercise? Now?" she whimpered. She was squirming to wake up, rubbing her eyes, trying to dispel the fog of unconsciousness. "Do I have to?".

"Have you forgotten you're in training?"

"In training for what?"

"For reproduction! It's time to take the heavyweight championship away from our aunties, remember? Wake up and work it, Rocky!" With that, he drew his wife into a tight embrace and rolled her onto her back, trapping her beneath his muscular torso. Lacing his fingers through hers, he raised her hands above her head and pinioned them there. His lips brushed her collarbone, then nuzzled their way up her neck until they found their target—her pink, tender, exquisitely sensitive earlobe. His lips gripped the delicate lobe and pulled at it gently, taking it just far enough into his mouth to tickle it teasingly with his tongue. Elena shrieked with delight.

Alarmed by the noise, Feddy quickly covered her mouth with his own like a stopper, muffling her carnal yelp. "Glmp, glmp," was all the sound that could escape from beneath that muzzle. After kicking impotently a second or two, she relaxed, sighed happily, closed her eyes and yielded. Feddy pressed his kiss against her surrendering lips until his breath was spent and he was forced to pull away and swallow some air. "Honey-toes," he cautioned, "Don't forget a bunch of your Getty friends are hereabouts somewhere. We'll have to be discreet for a few days."

"Oh, yeah." Much as she loved Kimi, Maria, Amber and Jenni, at the moment the proximity of her houseguests—the teenage contingent of the sisterhood—made her curse a little. "Damn! How're we gonna make love, with them camped in the living room?"

"Quietly, very quietly," he instructed. "Here I'll show you. Ssshhhhhhh." he held a finger to her lips as if to shush her, then began to draw it lazily down over her chin, neck, chest, between her breasts, past her waist, navel . . . She began to wriggle in anticipation, and the mattress responded with a plaintive groan. "Feddy," she hissed, "The bed's gonna give us away."

"Then we'll just have to do it slowly, very slowly . . ." his finger continued its journey. "Very, very, very slowly," he whispered. "Does that work for you?" His wife nodded wordlessly. Thoroughly enraptured, by now she was helpless to do aught but give herself up to him and to passion.

After awhile, suspended above her, he bent down, his face close to hers, and his low voice spilled into her ear, "How'm I doing?"

"Mmmmmmm," she purred back, and a moment later, softly, hoarsely, "Yo, Adrian."

* * * * * * * * *

Unaware of Federico and Elena's dedicated efforts to steal her title, the current Mohammed Ali of pregnancy—Livia—squinted painfully, shielding her eyes from the blinding assault of the morning's first light. Her slowly adjusting vision made out a dark-haired figure coming through the bedroom door. "Tino? Is that you? Where did you go, sweetie?"

"Where do you think? Downstairs. Your breakfast's arrived—first pizza of the day."

A sudden wave of nausea washed over his wife. "Oh, gross! Who eats pizza in the morning?"

Tino dug a finger in one ear to unplug it, as though he couldn't believe what it was hearing. "Duh, I don't know, babe, other than maybe _you_. Like, every morning for the last nine months."

"No way! You exaggerate! And what's that combination on top? Ham and hot peppers and pineapple chunks? Ugh. Do I look like a barbarian? All I want is orange juice. Pulp-free."

"Aha, all of a sudden, we have no appetite." Tino tossed the warm Fedelena's Pizza box onto a nearby bureau top and stretched out on the bed next to his wife, supporting himself on one elbow. "Could that be a sign you're finally ready to drop that litter of yours? I sure hope so. Those two babies' kicking woke me up several times in the night," he pouted.

"YOU! They woke YOU up!"

Oops, thought Tino, that was the wrong thing to say. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, Livia, I know you're thinking, well, at least he can roll away from them. What I meant to say was, if they're keeping _me_ awake it must be a _hundred_ times harder on _you."_

"Damned right! . . . And nice save, big boy," she grinned up at him.

"Besides," he said, more solemnly. "I don't want to roll away. You see, this is one thing I'll never have again—the ability to scooch up next to my wife, hold her in my arms and realize I've got my entire family packaged up in one big round huggable parcel." His hand lifted off the sheets to reveal Livia's astounding girth draped in her voluminous nightie. Lowering his lips to her belly, he kissed it first on the left side, then on the right. "But you know what?" he addressed the belly. "I really think I'd like to meet you guys. Why won't you come out?"

"Names, maybe?"

"What do you mean?"

As Tino rested his head gently on his wife's swollen tummy, she casually ran a hand through his hair and explained. "Well, Fab and B have already picked the names for their kids--Gustav Fabio and Livia Beatriz. Cute, huh? Maybe our kids just want to know we have names waiting for them, too, before they come out. Maybe they want to make sure we won't stick them with monikers like Gilligan and Tinkerbell."

"Oh no, those were my frakking favorites!"

"Seriously, Tino, what do you say to 'Jesse' for a boy? I like that name."

"No 'o' at the end," he frowned. "But, okay, that's cool."

"And what about Lucrezia for a girl? It _is_ Italian, you know."

"Italian like Lucrezia Borgia, the famous poisoner?" Tino screwed his face up in distaste.

"Exactly! I was named after Livia of Rome—a poisoner, too, at least in the book _I, Claudius._ So I always wanted to name a daughter that."

Tino snorted. "You are seriously twisted, my love."

"Well, I thought we could make her Lucrezia Beatrice and call her Lucy-B. What do you think?"

"I _guess_ Lucy-B's better than Tinkerbell," Tino sighed skeptically. "But if you think it will finally make them pop, I'm up for any name you want. Beavis and Butthead, even."

"Okay, Beavis and Butthead Rossi it is. Except—wait a sec!—which one will be the girl?"

* * * * * * * * *

If Tino had experienced a night of fitful sleep, his discomfort was trivial indeed measured against the suffering of Rachael Cullen. Since dawn, her husband had been hitting the redial button on his cell over and over to no avail. "Why don't you answer, damn it?" he shouted, throwing the phone down on his desk in desperation and helpless rage. But quickly he scooped it up and tried again, as his mind raced back to relive once more the horrific events of the night he and his beloved had just endured . . .

_Sometime after midnight, Edward had been wrenched out of slumber by his wife's piteous cries, and for hours had known not a moment's peace. _

"_Edward, the baby," her voice was fraught with terror. "Something's wrong!"_

_The young lawyer could hardly meet her eyes. He knew something was wrong. He had been waiting for this. Dreading it. _

_At her first holler, his hand had flown to her stomach, no longer totally flat but still only a gently sloping foothill compared to the Himalayan dimensions of Livia's nether region. Within seconds came the response he had been fearing, a pounding against his hand that visibly distorted her belly, powerful enough to have thrown a weaker man off balance. "Please," moaned his love, "We have to go to Hospital, go now! We have to save it!"_

"_No, not the hospital, dearest. I know you're in terrible agony, and that devastates me. But the doctors at the hospital won't know how to help you. On the other hand, I do know what this is. I've seen it with, erm, family members and I know a doctor—somebody overseas--who has devised a treatment, something that can preserve the baby's health and ease your pain at the same time. I called and had him prepare several months' worth of doses, just in case this happened, and the treatment is on its way. I hoped it would reach us before we needed it, but hopefully delivery will come within the next 24 hours. Please try to hold on until . . ."_

_At that moment, the thing within Rachael stirred violently, sending her rolling across the bed and onto the floor. "Rachael!" shouted Edward in horror. Then, kneeling beside her, he saw that she had banged her head on the frame of the bed as she was flung out of it. She lay motionless. He checked her breathing, and it was still strong and regular. After a minute or two with no further incident, it appeared that the creature within her had been likewise becalmed by the fall. Ah, he thought, perhaps this is a blessing. If she can remain unconscious awhile, she can have some respite from the further torment that I'm afraid is still to come._

_He gathered the treasure of his life into his arms and lifted her gently up to the bed again, cradling her and looking at her with infinite tenderness. The awful paleness of her countenance wrung his heart. Standing, he walked to the window and punched a number into his cell. A voice answered at once, brusquely, "Ciao. Che cosa volete?"_

"_It's Edward, Doc. Something's happened! I need to know if that delivery from you is on its way?"_

"_Yes, yes, he has it now and he should already be in California. I wouldn't be surprised if he can put it in your hands today. Why? Is your wife . . . ?"_

"_That's right—it's started already, even sooner than I feared. And the medicine—it won't hurt my Rachael, will it?"_

"_Not permanently. I told you it has some pretty powerful side effects. She's going to feel pretty knocked out and pretty weak until after it's over, and no rosy glow of pregnancy for her. But that's a lot better than the alternative, non sei d'accordo?"_

"_Yes, thank God, yes, yes. Thank you, thank you for all . . ."_

_Another plaintive cry from the bed sliced into the young husband like a knife. Cutting short his conversation with a flip of his cell phone, he rushed to Rachael's side and gathered her to him, covering her drawn face with kisses, the tears streaming down his own cheeks. "Hold on, hold on, it will be okay. Just a few more hours. O my love, my love, my love."_

Finally, finally, for the first time that morning, he noticed, the ringing on the line did not go to voice mail. Instead, the ringing stopped, he heard naught but silence for a moment and then a blessed human voice. Edward listened and replied, "Look, I know you have it, and I understand you're not that far away. My wife is suffering. When can you be here?"

"I'm in the area, but I've been held up. I'll be there as soon as I can. And, of course, you know this stuff is illegal, so remember, not a word to anyone."

"But it will be today, won't it?"

"Today. I promise."

Rachael's husband flipped shut the phone, and lifted his eyes to heaven. "I know it may sound strange coming from one such as me, Lord, but please, please bring deliverance soon!"

* * * * * * * * *

Stephanie awoke with a start and was surprised by the novel display confronting her—the love of her life, still in the boxers and t-shirt he slept in, his face coarse from overnight stubble, on his knees, his elbows resting on the bed, hands folded, eyes closed. While, in another part of town, Edward Cullen sent a prayer for help soaring heavenward, Valentino Rossi was offering a prayer of his own—a prayer of thanksgiving.

Outside the confines of the church that Stephanie had attended with him occasionally—certainly not very regularly—Valentino was not an overtly devout man. Disquieted by his sober mien, she reached out to tap his arm gently. Opening his eyes, he at once set her worries at rest by favoring her with a peaceful smile.

"Excuse me, Steph, honey, I was just having a little chat with my Maker."

"Well, from the look on your face it was a happy chat. What brought this on, Val?"

"Simple. He saved my little brothers yesterday. They fell out of the sky and could have been gone in the wink of an eye, and He saved them. I was thinking about that, and then I looked over and saw you sleeping and I realized that in addition to the blessing of my brothers, He gave me you. It's funny, you and I have never really talked about religious things and I don't know much about what you think about, you know, God and all. But to me, when I met you it was like somebody had given me the best, most perfect birthday present of my life. I guess in the back of my mind, I've always thought that somebody had to be God."

Overcome by the sweetness of his unexpected declaration, his girlfriend slipped off the mattress to sit by him on the floor, her back up against the bed. Snuggling her head against his chest, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him hard. "Thanks, tough guy. What a nice thought."

"Look, while I'm on my knees anyway . . ." he felt her pull back and saw her eyes widen suddenly, and he knew at once what she was thinking . . . "Oh, no, Steph, don't worry, this isn't going to be a proposal. Not yet, anyway," he added. "But I want you to know I've been thinking about that. You and me married, I mean. It's just that, well, I want to be established first, feel like I have something to offer. Still, this _is_ a warning that one of these days that big question's going to be coming right at you. Be thinking about it, okay? Of course, your home's far away, I realize—your life's been in Australia up to now . . ."

"Yes, but don't forget I'm a 'halfie.' I lived in England first, so I had to adapt to a new locality at least once before, and I'm flexible. . . . But, hey, that's okay, don't worry. I'm not going to give you an answer to a question you haven't popped yet," she laughed. "Anyway, speaking of your brothers, are they up yet?"

"Not yet, but look at this. I rose early to look at the newspaper." Said paper was now strewn over the floor near the foot of the bed. He grabbed the front page and pointed at the headline—JET HITS WATER, NONE DEAD. "I was just reading about the crash yesterday, and it seems that the pilot wasn't the real hero in their safe landing, after all. Apparently, that guy got injured during the fall and this very young co-pilot took over. He was the one who really saved Matt and Eliseo's lives. His name is Rhett Renoir. And here's his photo—do you notice something funny about his looks?"

Stephanie lowered her head to scrutinize the photo and gave a sharp guffaw. "Yes, indeed, he _is_ funny-looking. Very funny-looking, poor guy."

Her lover treated her to a mock frown. "You must have the wrong photo. That was quite a handsome man I was pointing out."

"Honestly, I do think I have the right guy. And I do see what you're saying. He looks enough like you and your brothers to be a relative. Is he, do you think?"

"Nah, never heard of him. I think we Rossis just have one of those faces, you know?"

"I think you have a couple dozen of 'those' faces, actually." Just then the phone on their nightstand pealed sharply. "Wait, stay where you are, Val, I'll get that."

The pretty Aussie stretched to pick up the phone and immediately her face grew solemn. "No, no, of course, I'll come. I'll dress and be there in a few minutes." Hanging up, she turned to her companion. "That was Edward Cullen. Rachael's very sick. Apparently she had a bad night and still feels awful. I'm gonna run over and look after Ricco and Vanna so Edward can nurse her."

Once she was gone, Valentino grabbed the phone and put in a call to a cousin. It was early yet, but this was one household he was sure was up and about.

* * * * * * * * *

"Rats," thought Melissa, "Whatever made me think I could pull together a wedding in two weeks?" Leafing frantically through bridal magazines, she was cross, and the fact that she had had no more than five hours sleep in a row at any time since the day after Calvino's proposal—or re-proposal, as she termed it—didn't improve things.

For one thing, she would have liked her bridesmaids to have worn identical gowns in the ceremony. That was how she'd always dreamed it, like something out of a movie. But in the end she had just told each to buy something lavender and long, and that would have to be matching enough to suit her. After all, she should be grateful she was marrying her wonderful Cal. This momentous fact alone made it completely worth the sacrifice. And yet . . .

Just then, Wonderful Cal reappeared in the doorway from whence he had recently departed.

"Who was that on the phone so early?" His fiancee asked. "What did they want?"

Coming up behind her, he circled her waist with his arms and stretched his neck around to kiss each of her cheeks in turn. As he continued to embrace her, he started them swaying, and for a moment she leaned back against him, relaxed and felt happy. She noted for the thousandth time what a perfect height he was for her, a fact which—like the fact that they both loved chocolate, had compatible zodiac signs, had seven letters in each of their first names, and that the words Melissa Rossi spoken together sounded like the music played in heaven—proved that theirs was a match destined since the beginning of time. But then she remembered, "Cal, that phone call . . . ?"

"It was Valentino. There was something in the paper this morning about a co-pilot who actually rescued that plane from nosediving yesterday. Since he saved Matt and 'Liseo's lives, Val wants to contact him and invite him down to the wedding as a way to say thank you. I said Yes. I hope you're okay with that?"

Melissa grunted. "Why not?" she responded grumpily. "I don't see how I'm ever going to organize enough food for everyone as it is. But what's one more mouth to not feed?"

"You're marrying into a whole family in the food craft industry and you're worrying about catering? Hey, I'll just ask the guys . . . ."

"Yes, yes, good," she cut him off. "Do that for me, please, will you? But speaking of your family, what's the deal with Cristoforo and Ruby? Why haven't we heard from them? Why aren't they here already? Don't they know how much there is to get done? There's only three days left—not even that! And why aren't you more worried?"

"Listen, knowing my twin, this isn't unexpected. Mel, there's something I should have explained about Cris . . . ."

Here Calvino's sentence was left hanging in midair. At that moment, from the front yard of their rented bungalow, came an ear-splitting crack, a rustling sound and a loud BANG. The latter sound seemed to come from just over their heads and shook the house all around them. Through their window, meanwhile, wafted the unwavering whine of something loud and blaring.

"What the frak?" yelled Cal, heading for the front door with Mel at his heels. But emerging from the house, they saw clearly what had caused the clamor. A tree, dead for months now, but still hung with brown decaying leaves near the top, had cracked near its base and come crashing down on the roof of their rented bungalow, where it now rested perilously. Upon examination, the reason for this calamity became clear, as well. The blaring obviously emanated from a car horn that had become stuck. The car had apparently entered the driveway and then veered onto the lawn and was now wedged against the stump that remained of the fallen tree.

"The notorious red Honda Civic," Melissa whispered, looking curiously at her fiancé. He in turn tossed her an embarrassed grin, and pointed at a bewhiskered young fellow now emerging clumsily from the driver's side of the guilty Honda.

"Melissa, sweetheart," Cal intoned in a voice heavy with resignation. "Meet Cristoforo."


	11. Arrivals

Chapter 11

~ Arrivals ~

Katrina sat on the bed brushing her hair as Bea re-entered the guest room they were sharing at Tino and Livia's house. "Who was that calling you so early?" she asked.

"It was Roman. She's coming here a day early. She was calling between legs of her flight to tell me she'll arrive this afternoon." Here Bea lowered her voice, "I guess Livia's going to fix her up on the couch in the study. Thank goodness there are only two twin beds in this room so we won't have to listen to her snoring."

"Yeah," Katrina grimaced, thinking to herself, Too bad for me Roman's not the only one who snores. Out loud, she mused, "I wonder what made her change her schedule?"

"Oh it was that Sergio, of course. He's been phoning her every couple hours since they parted, and she's thoroughly besotted with him. It seems his latest movie already had its showing in Santa Barbara, and rather than stay for the rest of the film festival he wants to come directly here. He and his boys and that moody cousin of theirs are taking rooms at the local hotel."

"I thought they were going to Disneyland first. Now why are _they_ coming early?"

"Well, of course, Roman thinks it's all about her, so I didn't have the heart to tell her that he's coming to see me. The studio that's filming _When Hell Freezes Over_ has fallen out with the director they hired, so he's gone and Sergio diRossi is the replacement. He wants to get together with me to talk about the script and some plot points, as he wants to get busy storyboarding it right away. But of course, he called and told Roman it's because he can't be away from her another minute. She's so excited because when he hung up he said, 'Ciao, tesora.'"

"Goodbye, darling?" Katrina didn't know much Italian, but she knew enough to recognize that affectionate greeting.

"Yes. Again, I didn't have the heart to tell her that for film folk, 'darling' doesn't really mean anything special. They call everyone darling. They call their poodle groomers darling."

"I guess that's true, but Bee, if you'd been with us on the plane, the way Sergio was looking at Roman, I do think he is quite attracted to her. More than to his poodle groomer, certainly."

"Well, Livia's still in bed, but I think I heard Tino up earlier so they're probably awake. I better go alert them to expect additional company. And I also have to call Feddy and Elena to get the teens ready to entertain Sergio's two boys this afternoon. Don't know what the cousin will occupy himself with, but I got the impression he had some errand to run here in town, too."

"The cousin has a name, you know," admonished Katrina. "It's Bassanio. I do hope he's recovered some from the shock I seemed to give him. I think I'd better stay out of his way while he's in the neighborhood, as my appearance seems to upset him. Too bad, because he _is_ attractive. I would have liked to get to know him better—just as a friend, of course. Come to think of it, I don't even know what he does for a living. I wonder what his errand might be. It's possible we'll run into him anyway." With that, she resumed her brushing, though her hair looked perfectly fine already. Why she would want it to shine any more than usual today was a mystery she didn't ponder.

* * * * * * * * *

The door flew open even before Stephanie had knocked. She found herself facing a wild-eyed Edward and immediately registered the considerable disappointment on his face.

"Oh, it's you," he said dully, and then, pulling himself together, "I'm sorry, that was rude, please come in, Stephanie. Thanks for coming."

"You _were_ expecting me, weren't you?" the Aussie asked uncertainly. "Just now, you seemed surprised . . ."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean . . ." he ran a hand through a wild and unruly thatch of hair, so uncharacteristic of the usually impeccable young lawyer. "It's just, Rachael is still in a bad way, and we're waiting for her medication to be delivered. Right now, every minute is a torment for her."

"Is it coming from the drug store? Because if you like, I could hop over for you and pick it up."

Edward smiled wearily, ruefully. "No, what she needs is a highly expensive, specialized formula that has to be imported. Her ailment is quite rare in these parts so there's somebody bringing the treatment here from overseas."

"I see." She really didn't, but that was none of her business, she decided. "Well, where are the twins so I can let you get back to your wife?"

A sharp moan, almost a muffled scream wafted down to Stephanie from the master bedroom. Edward's eyes shot desperately up the stairway, then back at his visitor. "Look, come up with me, will you? I have to dress the twins and in the meantime you can look in on Rachael. I'll have the kids ready for you in a few minutes."

Pushing the bedroom door open gently, Stephanie was truly shocked at the sight confronting her. Rachael's eyes seemed sunken into their sockets and her skin was deadly pale. The lady of the house gave a little whimper and reached out her hand to her best friend. "Thank God you're here, twinnie. I wouldn't want Vanna and Ricco to see me like this."

"Rach, what the hell is the matter with you? I've heard of difficult pregnancies, but this . . ." she shook her head in bewilderment.

"The baby. It's kicking up a storm inside of me, seems totally restless."

"Kicking? Already? I thought you were only a few weeks gone."

"Apparently I miscalculated." Her expression turned wistful. "Steph, I was so looking forward to when you feel those first gentle little inner scramblings. You know, when you guide your husband's hand to your tummy for the first time and he feels the wonder of life within you and suddenly it's real for him and he smiles. The way it was with Gio when I was carrying the twins. But then last night, all of a sudden this started up. It's like the being inside me is taking karate chops, trying to bust it's way out of the womb through my stomach wall."

Her friend stared at her in alarm. "That sounds awful! There has to be more to this than just being off on the timing of your pregnancy."

Rachael opened her mouth to answer, but instead cried out, clutched at her stomach and grabbed the nearest bedpost. For a moment she seemed to be gasping for air as she struggled to maintain her balance. Stephanie was horrified, observing her friend's still relatively flat belly distort as though under attack from within. At last Rachael regained some measure of composure.

"You're right," the young mother admitted hoarsely. "It's not a normal pregnancy. Edward explained that there's a congenital and incurable condition that runs in his family. It must have been passed on to our baby."

"Like sickle-cell anemia or Tay-Sachs disease?"

"I don't know. I guess. Apparently that's why he's been so insistent we not have more kids. I don't know why he didn't tell me before, but it wouldn't have mattered. I only got pregnant by accident. Anyway, Steph, I already love this baby—it is Edward's, after all—and I don't want to lose it."

"Pretty powerful baby, it looks like."

"I don't understand everything, I just want it to be safe. And I want to stop hurting. Anyway, let's talk about something else for awhile, okies? So I don't have to think about it. Anything new with you and Val?"

"Well, did you hear his brothers were in a plane crash yesterday?"

"Omigod, are they hurt?"

"Amazingly, no. But he was so moved by the miracle of them being saved that it led him to make, well, sort of a declaration to me today."

The young Scot's eyes widened. "Steph! He proposed?"

"Not exactly, but he . . . I guess you could say he proposed to propose. In the future, you see, after he gets set up in business. He wanted to let me know it's coming. I'm so happy! I've been waiting . . ."

At this point, Rachael's husband inserted his head into the room. "Stephanie? The kids are ready now. They're across the hall playing, but their mother's moaning is upsetting them. Can you take them downstairs so hopefully they won't hear any more?"

"Sure," replied their visitor as she stepped past him into the hall. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "Edward, what Rachael's been telling me—there's something not right here. Things you've told her, they just don't fit. I know you love her and the twins, and that your main concern is just bringing your family through this crisis, but if you haven't been straight with her, you better be thinking of how to start. She deserves nothing less."

Edward's gaze dropped to the floor. Stephanie's heart went out to him, he looked so helpless as he nodded, acknowledging the truth of her words. "You're right. You're pretty smart, aren't you? Anyway, when I think she can handle it, I'm going to tell her everything."

* * * * * * * * *

Rattled by the calamitous tableau laid out on her front lawn, Melissa nevertheless found the grace to offer a welcoming hand to her soon-to-be brother-in-law. "Cris, it's good to meet you. You sure know how to make a dramatic entrance."

For a moment, Cristoforo appeared bewildered by her words, then turned to consider his wounded vehicle and looked back at her with new understanding in his eyes. "Oh, I guess I made kind of a mess of your tree."

"No, no. Don't bother about it." Once again Melissa's instinct to put everyone at ease won the day. "You know, Cal and I have been after the landlord for the longest time to chop down that dead tree before it falls on one of us. Now, it seems you've forced his hand, and I can't thank you enough."

Hearing her reaction, Calvino felt overwhelming waves of love and awe washing through his heart. Had ever a sweeter, more lovable, more forgiving girl drawn breath upon this earth? He slipped an affectionate arm around his fiancée and gave her shoulder a tender squeeze. At the same time, he sighed heavily, realizing that—as usual—his twin seemed only vaguely aware of the havoc he had left in his wake.

The first order of business, realized Cal, was to shut off the horn, which was inflicting on the neighborhood an earsplitting monotone bellow. He signaled his twin to pop the hood, then reached in and within moments their ears were treated to a blessed silence. Unfortunately that silence was soon invaded by a hollering that quickly grew louder as a red-faced balding fellow came racing down the driveway. "Our landlord," Cal muttered to his brother.

The bald man now reached their little group and bent over grabbing his knees, panting with exhaustion from the run. "You can expect a bill for this, Rossi! And I'm taking you to court for punitive damages as well. I'm getting somebody out here to check whether that roof's been harmed, also, and you'll pay for that, too. I knew you were trouble when I rented you this house. You and your cousin here—which one are you?" The landlord squinted at Cris, trying to place him.

"Ernie, meet my brother Cristoforo. You don't know him. Cris, meet Ernie. And, look, if you want to make a stink about this, Ern, remember you had a legal obligation to dispose of that dead tree a long time ago. It's been a hazard since I-don't-know-when. I've sent you a bunch of certified letters about it over the last few months, and even sent over some estimates to have it removed. So now—just like I predicted—it's down. If you know what's good for you, you'll pay up like you should have done all along. Who's to say that it was my brother's fault? Maybe he just parked at the foot of a tree that had been teetering for ages and finally fell on the house in the night. And if it turns out the roof is now breached and anything leaks in on Mel's and my stuff, well, that will be your fault, too."

The lobster hue of Ernie's face was now transformed into a violent purple. "This is outrageous!" he yelled.

Calvino smiled at him calmly. "Good. I'm glad you agree. Apology accepted. Now if we have your check tomorrow, I'll make nothing more of it, okay?"

Throwing his hands at his tenants in a dismissive gesture, the landlord—enraged beyond words—simply growled and tromped off.

"Don't worry, Cris," Cal patted his brother on the back. "He won't bother us any more. But we have another problem. You sideswiped Antonino's car."

"Where?" Startled, the new Rossi arrival's eyes darted around questioningly. "I don't see it."

"Not now. It's not here. You did it the other night, driving over on Glade Street. Didn't you see the scraping of your paint?" And leading his brother around to the passenger side of the car, he pointed it out. "Now that we know it was you, I guess I'll have to cover Nino's repairs. Where'd you come up with money for a car anyhow?"

"Damn!" exclaimed Cris, whistling. "Will you look at that scratch? Never noticed it. The money?" he added evasively. "Oh, I have my ways. It's only an old second-hand Civic, after all. How did you know about me hitting Nino's car, though? _I_ didn't even know!"

"Oh, the dangerous red Honda Civic's been the talk of the neighborhood for the last couple days. You also knocked over a U.S. mailbox and you splashed Feddy when he was changing a tire on the road into town. Actually," he added, "I'm sort of surprised they gave you your license back, after that trouble of yours the last time you were on U.S. soil."

Calvino's brother threw him a look of exasperation. "License! What's wrong with you Cal? Who has time for that? Do you know how long it took me to find your damned house? I've been searching around town since Monday night. Lucky I saw your name on your mailbox. You gave me the wrong address! Look here!" With that Cal handed him a couple lines scribbled on the back of a gas receipt.

"This is the right house number and right street! What's your problem?"

"It is?" Cris looked muddled. An anxious expression laid siege to his face. "Oh dear, oh dear."

Melissa had been observing these fraternal interactions with growing confusion. But she had no interest at the moment in car repairs and driver's licenses. Her immediate concerns were more pressing. Slipping her arm though her new guest's arm, she asked about what was weighing most on her mind: "So, Cris, where's your fiancée? She doesn't seem to be with you."

"Oh, her. Yes." The young man shifted his weight uneasily. "Well, she came separately, you see."

"Really? Is she here now?"

"I'm pretty sure she is."

Melissa could see she was going to have to work through this slowly, one step at a time. Cal looked on, admiring how quickly his love had discerned the best way to handle his brother. "Okay, now is there a reason she hasn't contacted me yet about her role as the other bride in this affair? Because we really need to do some planning."

"Well, I think she just got here. And . . ." Melissa nodded, encouraging him to continue. "And, well, she doesn't know yet she's the other bride."

"She thinks you're getting married at some other time?"

"Not exactly."

"So," Melissa was as gentle with him as with a slow kindergartener. "Your fiancée doesn't know you two are getting married?"

"Well, she doesn't know she's my fiancée."

"Cris!" erupted Cal, "What the f-- . . ." But Mel shushed him and turned back to their guest.

"But this girl—this woman—is planning on coming to our wedding. Is that so?" He nodded.

"As your date?"

"I'm not sure she knows I'll be there."

At that, Melissa shook her head vigorously. This was proving a challenge even for her patient solicitude.

"OK, she doesn't know she's getting married, she doesn't know she's your date, she doesn't know you'll be here, and she's never met me at all. If all that's correct, why is she coming to our wedding?"

Cristoforo took a large gulp, glanced warily at his brother and then fixed his eyes on his questioner. "I'm sorry. She's here because she thinks she's your maid of honor."

* * * * * * * * *

Playing in the study with the door closed, Vanna and Ricco were shielded from the despairing sounds that issued periodically from the master bedroom upstairs. But fretful and naughty, they were clearly aware at some level of a disruption in their lives. The small toy cars Stephanie had supplied for them to play with had quickly turned into assault weapons in Ricco's hands, and just as quickly he turned them on his sister. Since her brother had managed to monopolize the cars, Vanna fought back with the only arsenal she had left—her hands. Slapping at Ricco and pulling his hair, she challenged Stephanie's rule of law as effectively as did her more heavily armed sibling. The babysitter was therefore relieved to hear the doorbell and—after sending the twins to opposite corners of the room—to grab a momentary respite by responding. If it was the eagerly awaited medication, perhaps Rachael could soon be sleeping peacefully and she herself could return her difficult charges to their stepfather.

But flinging the door wide, she realized that was not to be—not yet. "Valentino, what are you doing here?"

"You left your cell home, and I thought I shouldn't call the Cullens' number, lest I disturb Rachael. Look, I invited that pilot to the wedding Saturday. However, he said he can't make it then, but he's free today, so I asked him down for this afternoon. You know, in order that Matt and Eliseo can thank him in person. I thought we could at least give him a good meal, if that's all right. He'll be here sometime after lunch and stay for supper. Anyway, I wanted to fill you in."

Steph nodded wearily. "Thanks, hon."

"Don't think you have to do anything. I can see you're tied up here. Fen and Nena are coming by this afternoon to spend a bit of time with the twins, and I can make supper for all our guests tonight. Just show up if you're able, and if you're not, I'll understand."

Hot tears stung his girlfriend's eyes, expressing at once her strain at the situation she was confronting in the Cullen household and her gratitude for having been given this incredible man as her life partner. Observing her distress, Val drew her into his arms, one arm around her waist, the other hand cupping the back of her head, guiding it to rest on his shoulder. "It's going to be all right," he murmured into her ear, as his hand stroked her hair soothingly. "It's just one of those days we have to get through sometimes. But you're the best, Steph. The best friend, the best helper, the best love I've ever known. You can do anything. I promise."

The tears were rolling down her cheeks freely now. She raised her lips to his and kissed him with all the emotion welling up in her heart. "I can't be the best, because you are, Val. I thank God for you every day." Lowering her voice, she glanced toward the stairs and whispered, "And I thank God I'm with somebody like you, not Edward. He's at the root of this mess, I know it. Look, I have to get back to the kids, but I'll come home as soon as I can. I'll try to be there in time to greet our dinner guest."

As Stephanie closed the door behind her, Edward appeared at the top of the stairs. "Was that--?" he called down to her.

She shook her head. "No, not yet." And with that, she returned to the battlefield.

* * * * * * * * *

Bee had been on the phone again. Tino was preparing brunch, Katrina was setting the table and an ungainly Livia lounged uncomfortably in a captain's chair as once more the young Norwegian made her way back to the breakfast table in the kitchen. "Very odd, this trend that seems to be developing—Roman, the diRossis and now yet another wedding guest showing up unexpectedly early. You remember I told you about my date Archie? Well, that was just him on the phone. It seems his tampon extravaganza or whatever it was . . "

"A sales convention," Katrina reminded her.

"Whatever," continued Bee. "Anyway, his part in it is over. I presumed the plan was that he'd rent a car and take a couple days to drive down from Oregon, enjoying the scenery. But now he's saying he'll arrive today by plane. He'll be at the hotel. He has some errand to run here this afternoon, but later he wants to see me." She frowned.

Livia got right to the heart of the matter. "Bee you know you want to see him, too. Why are you turning your smile upside down like that? I should think you'd be tickled pink."

"What about Sergio diRossi, though? The cousin—that Bassanio—" (Katrina looked up sharply and felt her heart leap in her chest unbidden) "—it seems he's going off on his own somewhere—" (Katrina's heart dove now to the depths of her stomach and she felt herself growing hot, wondering what he could be up to in this neck of the woods—a woman, perhaps?) "But Sergio" concluded Bee, "expects to spend all afternoon with me."

"He'll just have to wait." declared Livia imperiously. "Roman will be here and she can help with that. What else?"

"Livia, this guy Archie is gorgeous and sexy and charming and desirable and . . . and . . " the young writer shook her head.

"And what, dear?"

"And something just doesn't ring true. If this guy's a feminine hygiene sales executive, I'm a rattlesnake wrangler."

"Well, I think you could be if you put your mind to it," commented Livia. "But the point is, you mistrust him. So you have three days to find out what he's really about. Just watch yourself, and don't get caught up in anything crooked or dangerous, okay?"

Famous last words, thought Bee. Half of her mind told her that she should run from this fella like the plague, but the other half was echoing the words she had spoken to a friend previously: "Lynnie, I'm smitten." And of course, that was the half she had to listen to.

* * * * * * * * *

Driving along the main drag of the town, the stranger at the wheel of the rental car saw something that drew him and he pulled sharply to the curb. A lovely young thing with long dark hair clad in gym clothes was strolling along the sidewalk humming to herself. Hel-_lo_, the youthful driver thought to himself, I wouldn't mind getting to know _you_ better for a moment.

Energized by the kick-boxing lesson she'd just completed, Elena was feeling happy with the world. Looking up, she spotted a face she recognized—at least she sort of recognized it, enough to feel no distrust. She saw the young man at the wheel rolling down the window which separated them. "Excuse me, could I get some directions, miss?"

Elena laughed. "Sure, and let me guess what you want. You're in town for the wedding on Saturday, aren't you? The family resemblance is unmistakable."

The driver shook his head, seemingly perplexed. "Family? What family? I'm sorry, but anyway, you're mistaken. I'm just here for the day."

Baffled, Elena stared. If she'd ever seen a Rossi, she was looking at one now. At least she could have sworn . . . "I was speaking of the Rossi family—my in-laws, actually. One of 'em's getting hitched this weekend. I thought . . ." Embarrassed now, she pulled back from the car, anxious simply to provide the information he sought and send him on his way.

"Oddly enough," said the driver, "I'm visiting some Rossis this afternoon. But I'm not related to them, don't even know them. A Valentino and his two brothers . . ."

"Matt and Eliseo, sure."

"Apparently, they were on my plane yesterday. I work for United Airlines . . ."

Elena snapped her fingers. Suddenly she understood. "You! You're that pilot. The one who landed the plane and saved all the passengers. I saw your photo in the paper, and noticed how you have a Rossi look to you. But I do realize they have that kind of look that's pretty common to a lot of people. I guess you do, too." The young woman moved in closer to the car again. "Listen, to tell the truth, I'm kind of intrigued to meet you. After all, you're a hero . . . Maybe if you're going to be at Val's I can get my husband to drop over there with me in awhile, and we can chat. By the way, I'm Elena."

"Great, I'd like that. Thanks, perhaps I'll see you later. The name is Rhett Renoir." And with that he rolled up his window and pulled away, his brain racing. Okay, so what do we know? The good news is maybe I'll see her later. Hoo-boy, I may need to stick around longer than planned. Of course, the bad news—the husband. Not my favorite word. Oops, I forgot to get those directions. But that's okay, I didn't need them anyway. I got what I wanted.

* * * * * * * * *

"It's all right, Melissa, let me take it from here," admonished Melissa's bridegroom-to-be. Calvino realized that when his brother got into one of these binds, sometimes the best thing to do was to guide him back to the beginning of his story and let him just get the words all out. "Cris, tell me about this girl Ruby. Tell us all about how you met, and why you told me you're engaged when you're not, and what the heck you plan on doing about it now."

Cristoforo sighed heavily. It seemed as though he had spent his entire life confessing to his brother, and was finding it no less burdensome that it had ever been.

"Come on," encouraged Cal, "You were in Siam . . ."

"No, there is no Siam—not for 70 years now—it's called Thailand these days."

"OK, you were in Thailand."

"No. Actually I was in Korea. South Korea."

"And that's where you met Ruby."

"Um, yes. I saw her fall down."

"He probably made her fall down," whispered Cal in an aside to Mel.

"I heard that," accused Cris, but then admitted, "All right I made her fall down, but not on purpose. I was working for a band carrying heavy electrical equipment. It was big, blocking my field of vision and she was right in front of me, and then she was lying on the sidewalk. I felt terrible. This young woman, going her own way, hurting nobody. I dropped everything to see if she was all right, and do you know, she looked up at me with those big trusting eyes and it was like she saw right into me. Like she knew me. Now, later I found out she did, sort of. At least she knew Gio, from TV, so she knew from my face I was one of his relatives. And we made friends. Of course, I lost my job for dropping all that equipment, but what could I do? I had to make sure she was all right. And that turned out for the best because with no job, I was able to go with her to lunch, and then to supper. I found out that she's incredibly smart and talented. And she's important. People from all over the world visit this website she runs. She provides information. She's publicized movies. She knows about photos and downloading videos and copyright law.

"And can you believe it?" Cris continued, "She wasn't conceited or snobby, not at all. There's just a sweetness about her. She was kind and acted interested in me, despite the fact that I was a poor unemployed slob. We got in the habit of meeting in the square near where I first pushed her down. Every day she would be there and my heart would race to see her. I don't know why. And then one day she wasn't there, and the next she wasn't there again. I wondered where she could be. And the wondering consumed me. I found I didn't like spending a day not knowing where she was. I didn't like spending a day knowing she wouldn't be in it any time between when I rose and when I went to bed. And then she came back—she had just been visiting relatives—and I can't describe it or explain it. I just felt this supreme sense of . . . of joy to see her again."

Calvino slipped an arm around his twin and clapped him twice on the back. "You were falling in love, my brother."

"Yes, I guess that's what it was. But I didn't know how she felt. I mean she must have liked me somewhat to let me continue to be there with her. But I didn't know, maybe she just felt lonely. Or just felt sorry for me. Or felt bad because I lost my job. So I didn't want to push it, because I had a good thing just seeing her every day. But then my visa ran out, and I knew I had to come home. And that's when I decided to tell her how I felt. And to ask her to marry me. I tried practicing the words, but I got too nervous. So then I wrote them all down, so I could memorize them. But still I put it off, because I was scared. I've never felt like this before, Cal. What if she said No? I would have nothing. The days went by, and I had my flights all booked. I picked up some money, never mind how, but enough to get back here. The very last day, before I left—I decided that would be my D-Day and then if she turned me down I'd just make a quick escape."

Melissa slipped her hand into Calvino's. She loved a love story. She was so in love herself, she wanted to know that everyone else had somebody to love, too. Especially people she liked, and despite the first impression he had left, she was warming to Cal's brother. "What did she say when you told her how you felt?"

"Nothing really. She kept looking straight ahead of her, not at me. I didn't know if that was because she felt bad I was leaving or if she was just bored. Then I heard the warning come over the loudspeaker that my bus would be loading soon, and suddenly I heard myself telling her that I really liked her and that I was going to miss her, and how much our time together meant to me. She looked at me then with such sweet, sympathetic eyes. Cal, I kissed her. It was the first time. The only time. I forgot I was afraid and just went for it. And—and she kissed me back. There was this feeling of relief that came pouring through me when she did that. Right then and there I knew I had to have her for life, and I started to ask if she'd wait for me. I wanted to say I'd send for her, that I wanted her forever. But the announcement came that passengers had to board the bus right then because it was leaving."

"So you never did ask her or even tell her you love her. Then why did you tell me you were engaged?"

"Well, I was on the bus when your call came through. And after all, I'd made my decision by then, so it seemed like it was just a technicality."

"You'd made your decision, but Ruby hadn't."

"You keep calling her Ruby!" Cristoforo sounded frustrated now.

"You told me that's her name. Isn't it?"

Cris looked down at the backs of his hands, avoiding his twin's eyes. "No," he admitted. "I was afraid if I told you who she really was, you'd get in touch with her. You'd tip her off before I was ready."

"But I don't even know her. Or do I?"

"Not exactly. But I imagine Melissa does, at least from long distance. You see," he looked up, sighing heavily. "She's a Getty Girl."

Mel's ears perked up. "From Korea? A Getty? Omigod, you're talking about Laura! She's one of the most famous Getties there is!" Melissa was finding it hard to imagine this sweet but befuddled young man teamed with the super-efficient woman who ran the world's most esteemed Freddy R website. And yet, there was something about him, she realized, that was utterly charming. After all, he was Calvino's double, or almost.

"But Cristoforo," she continued, "How did she come to think she was my Maid of Honor?"

"Well, I just set up this new email account so I could keep in touch with her. Only I pretended it belonged to your social secretary."

"My social sec . . . ?" Melissa burst out laughing. "Gee, I could use one of those! Unfortunately, it's not in my budget! Anyway, I'm taking it that the secretary passed along an invitation from me to be in the wedding?"

Cris nodded. "I couldn't propose over the phone, obviously, but I had to get her here somehow."

Calvino reached around and hugged his lady love. "Well, at least this simplifies things for you, dearest. It seems there will be no double wedding after all. You hadn't assigned a Maid of Honor because you thought you and "Ruby" would be that for each other, and now she still can be because she's expecting it. Just call her and tell her to get a long purple dress pronto!"

Cris started jumping around now, flustered and upset. "Hold on! What do you mean no double wedding? You promised!"

"But Cris, you haven't even proposed!" sputtered Cal. "She doesn't have a bride's dress and veil, or ordered a bouquet, or had a chance to write some vows. She hasn't even said yes to marriage. And you don't know if she wants a double wedding."

"I'll run and ask her now! Maybe we can still do this. Only there's something I have to do first. But then, I'll ask her. Wait, don't cancel anything! I'll call you later!" He ran for his car and, luckily for him it started up at once, despite its recent trauma. Backing up with incautious speed, he pulled out into the street and screeched off. A moment later, he was backing hastily towards Cal and Mel's house again, and they saw him tearing back up their driveway. As he lowered his windows, he heard Cal shout out, "I heard she's at Uncle Fab's house! Two blocks up—the light blue duplex on the left!"

* * * * * * * * *

Edward sat with his back against the headboard of the bed. Rachael's head lay in his lap, a blanket pulled up to her chin. About half an hour earlier, the child inside her had apparently settled down to rest, thus allowing her a temporary release from her writhing. He prayed help would arrive before it started up again.

His wife's tortured eyes looked up at him. "Edward, why is the medicine taking so long to arrive? Surely the messenger realizes this is an emergency. You told me hours ago he was nearby and on his way!"

"Sweetie, I wish I could control that. You see, there's something I haven't told you. The treatment that's coming—well, technically, it's outlawed in the U.S. So the medico who produces it has to use an experienced drug runner, somebody who's willing to sneak illegal substances into this country, somebody who's done it before. He probably has to take some evasive action getting here. An excuse for being in the neighborhood that puts the authorities off his track."

"But why would it be outlawed?" Alarm rang in her voice now. "Edward, is this stuff safe?"

"Ultimately, yes. The truth is there will be some uncomfortable side effects for you, but nothing like what you've experienced in the last few hours. In the end, the child will come through this healthy and strong, and you will be whole and new again. It's just that the government is impervious to the needs of people like us—my family, I mean—"

At this moment, the doorbell sounded. Rachael's husband moved her gently to a pillow and sprang to his feet. "Be right back!"

Racing down the stairs, he glanced at the door to the study, where he knew Stephanie was ensconced with the toddlers. It was shut. She was apparently counting on him to answer the front door this time. Wrenching it open, he cried out in relief, "Finally, you're here! What kept you?"


	12. Scenes from an Afternoon: I The Uncles

**This chapter is dedicated to Beatrice Benedick.**

Chapter 12

~ Scenes from an Afternoon: I. The Uncles ~

A house full of nothing but women. In fact, technically the duplex could be considered two houses full of women crammed together into one giant estrogen preserve. Fabiano and Tino had nothing against women in reasonable doses—after all, in their day they had been quite the connoisseurs of female companionship. But this was different. The women surrounding them on this particular occasion were preoccupied with their own boyfriends and love objects. Their conversation revolved around wedding plans and baby plans and gossip about other women. They were therefore paying scant notice to the two sole male members of the side-by-side households. Nevertheless, the ladies' inattention had absolved the brothers not at all from playing solicitous host to the needs and whims of their Getty guests. It had started that day the first moment they stuck their toes out their respective bedroom doors. By now, they were growing weary.

Finally, Fabiano tossed the last coffee mug into the dishwasher in his kitchen, and punched Tino's number into his cell phone.

"I just finished cleaning up from lunch, bro. What's on your agenda? Partying with the hens in your chicken coop?"

"Oh god, don't even remind me! I mean, you know I like Livia's friends fine, but they seem to be multiplying by the dozens. A new one is shipping in from Canada this afternoon, and apparently a horde of teenage girls are going to descend on us any moment now ready to pounce on a couple of Italian boys who are coming here."

"Take a break and meet me out back, then, why don't you?"

"Erm, out back? Well, I don't think . . ."

"Oh, it's safe. That shirtless wonder from next door is nowhere to be seen yet. Seems to be keeping a low profile today. Unless you want to go give those Lexuses another run for their money. You up for a drag race out in the fields at the old Finlay farm?"

"Nah, Fabiano. Given our ladies' condition, I don't think we should stray too far from home, do you? After all, we could be required to make a drag race in earnest to California Memorial Hospital at any moment now."

And thus it was that the two brothers wound up lounging in adjoining lawn chairs on the duplex patio, nursing icy glasses of lemonade—Fabiano in his threadbare Levis only a couple sizes tighter than his identical twin's exquisitely tailored Ralph Lauren jeans.

"Well, well," mused Fab. "Look at us now—old family men. Here we are in a house surrounded by women and not so much as a tiny thought of straying crossing our minds. At least not my mind—I shouldn't speak for you."

"Not mine, either, more's the pity." Tino was lazily using a finger to draw a happy face in the dew on the side of his glass. Then he added some ringlets framing the face. "Some of our visitors make for pretty nice eye candy, you know. For example, that long drink of water—Katrina—if I were a single man, mmmm-mmmm, I wouldn't mind tapping that. But I'm quite the domesticated dawg these days. Not at all the hound I became after Chessley Cronk took my cherry when I was a mere freshman at P.S. 66."

"I remember her—the busty blonde who initiated you into the ways of back-seat love. A rich girl, I recall—her father was the Mattress King. You were all of 5'2" then, still a growing boy—"

"As were you, Fab."

"—but even at age 14, always with the jacket and silk tie, like the wiseguys in the neighborhood. And you were pretty sure of the effect you had on the fairer sex, even sophisticated older women like Chessley. I gotta admit I was jealous—you with a high school senior. And after her, the chickies came running. I guess it's true, 'girls go crazy for a sharp-dressed man.'" Fabiano sang out, offering some semblance of a melody if slightly misquoting the lyrics.

"What about you? Girls go just as crazy for James Dean in a leather jacket, God know why. Although, come to think of it, you were pretty faithful to your first squeeze for at least a couple years."

"Rocky Rapposelli! Oh boy, she was hot! That long, long black hair, the heavy make-up, like a mini biker chick in black leather. And tough? Wow! Still, I wasn't exactly keen to be all that faithful, you know. So many sexy girls at that school. It's just that any other girls I tried to date, Rocky would go and beat 'em up." Fabiano shook his head, sporting a small smug grin at what appeared to be a fond memory. "It took me awhile to catch on. And when I did, I sorta got off on the idea of her fighting for me. But I also really wanted some of that spice of variety, so I broke it off."

"Anyway, we had a good run with the female gender—and a long one. More than two decades in heavy rotation, yee-haw," crowed Tino triumphantly. "I must say, even if _you_ lack a certain panache in the sartorial department, we are two good-looking guys." With those words, Tino turned to drink in his brother's handsome baby face.

Suddenly he was struck by the sight of some new creases, and a note of concern crept into his voice. "You still got it, bro, but you do seem to be showing some pretty deep circles under the eyes these days. Is something wearing you down?"

"Well, sure. I don't know if you realize how much. Livino's Deli is well established now, so you and Livia have plenty of people to help you out. You can just rest up during this family leave period, preparing for what's to come. I don't have that. I'm still down at the bakery at all hours, and at the same time have to be around the house enough to look after Beatrice. It's running me ragged."

"Then hire some help, Fab. You can afford it now. Your business is growing pretty fast, after all. You can't do it mostly by yourself forever."

"I guess you're right. I'll place a help-wanted sign up at the shop tomorrow." With that, he stood up and snatched up their now-empty glasses. "Speaking of relaxing, why are we sipping these lemonades like a couple of Southern belles? I could do with a beer, how about you?"

"Nope, you can forget that. Remember, until the wives' main events are done with, you and I are designated drivers on call at all times."

"Oh, yeah," sighed the longer-haired twin, a bit dejected, flopping back down in his chair. The Rossi uncles now shared a companionable silence for awhile, each absorbed in his own private thoughts. After awhile, Fab spoke again. "So, Tino, what would you say the odds are that at least one of these sets of twins will pop today?"

"I can only pray to God it's my set. Livia did stop eating pizza today. Do you think that's a good sign?"

"What? You lucky frak! Beatrice is chowing down on the pasteles as ferociously as ever. Although I must say, it's _your_ wife who's really been packing on the pounds. Can you still reach your arms all the way around her?"

"No," admitted Tino sheepishly, but then shrugged. "You know what, though, I don't even care if she's fat. I see her all plump and round and stuffed chock full of babies—_our_ babies—and it makes me all warm and happy inside. It's the best feeling I ever had. You know, this came to me a lot later in life than it did to Pop or Angelo. When I think how I might have missed out . . ." He shook his head, for a moment lost in the wonder of life, birth and fatherhood.

"I know. I feel the same. I just wish I could find the words to tell that to Beatrice in a way she would believe. She's so sensitive these days. Bursts into tears at the drop of a pin. One minute she's all lovey-dovey, then the next she pulls away and starts beating herself up over some kind of nonsense. She's always been volatile, of course. We bicker like crazy and then make up like hellcats, and could never get enough of each other. Well, you live next door and you're not deaf, so I s'pose you know that. But now . . . " He shook his head helplessly.

Tino frowned. "It's no secret I had my doubts about you and B at the beginning. But I think I was wrong. She's just what you always dreamed of, man. So what's the problem?"

Fab sat wordless and morose for a time, gathering his thoughts, his fears and anxieties. Then, "Can we be serious a moment?"

"Sure, go on."

"Tino, I really love her. From that first night I saw her at your wedding, so wild, so gorgeous. And such red, red lipstick—you know I'm a sucker for that."

"You've certainly left plenty of evidence of that everywhere on your clothes since then," Tino agreed.

"I did think at first she was kind of full of herself, but she was so intoxicating, I was ready to put up with it. Then, she turned out to be so much more. Truly devoted to me, beautiful inside as well as out."

"And now?"

"Now—hopefully, it's just the hormones I guess—but she's erupting with all this self-doubt. I had to take that silly photo of Misty down in the bakery because she got so jealous of it."

"That is a loss," Tino commiserated.

"And she cries. Says she's worried she's not a good enough wife, that she won't be a good enough mother." He let loose a sigh of frustration. "I don't know how to help her. Women—they're so weird. These endless insecurities of hers. All I want is to take care of her, and I can't—and it breaks my heart." Fab glanced at his brother seeking reassurance. "Listen, Tino, do you think this will all be over soon? Is it just a normal part of pregnancy? Is your wife all insecure, too?"

"Queen Livia?" Tino chuckled wryly. "Not so you'd notice. I mean, I see the effects of the hormones, too, but mostly they're making her more scatter-brained and irrational. _Believe_ me, I'm hoping _that_ will subside. And, you know what? I trust God that it will. Part of it, I think, is that they're scared—yeah, even Livia, in her own way. They've never done this before and they know we haven't either. And right now they have too much time to think about that. But once the kids are here, I imagine they'll be too tired to obsess over this stuff any more, and we will, too. We'll all just have to suck it up and cope, like Momma and Pop did." Abruptly and unabashedly, Tino grabbed his brother's hand, lifted it to his lips and gave it an affectionate kiss. "Just keep looking ahead, Fab, keep looking ahead."


	13. Scenes from an Afternoon: II Black Sheep

Chapter 13

~ Scenes from an Afternoon: II. Black Sheep ~

Entering the kitchen from the back yard, Fabiano found Lynnie with her head buried in the refrigerator. "What are those odd little packets all tied up with string, Fab? The fridge is crammed with them, and I saw dozens more in the freezer when I was getting ice for the lemonade."

"You've found Beatrice's gruesome pasteles." replied her host. "I make them up in batches because she pigs out on them day and night. After nine months, I can hardly bear to look at, let alone taste or smell them. They've begun to revolt me, and the filling's started to look like vomit to me.. Forgive me for being a bad host, but please don't eat any or I'll have to make more."

"Okay, but it's hard to resist. You make them sound so appetizing . . ." A sudden roaring sound from the back yard made Lynnie jump in mid-sarcasm. "What's THAT?" she asked, shouting to be heard above the din.

"Ha! That's just our neighbor Sawyero, getting a late start on mowing his lawn."

Lynnie spun round and strode toward the back window. Just off to her right in the next yard over, a tall, tanned, well-constructed man, stripped to the waist, stood with his back turned toward her, bowed over a huge power mower. She frowned in puzzlement. "Why do you say he's late mowing his lawn? His grass looks smooth as a golf green already."

"Yeah, it always looks like that, because he mows it every single day. Usually in the morning, though, and forget about sleeping late when that happens. Not a problem for me—I have to be down at the bakery anyway before 5 a.m. to start baking, so I'm already gone. But it means Beatrice can't sleep in, and there's nothing like having to wake up at a civilized hour to get my wife grumpy these days. Then sometimes he mows again at the end of the afternoon. I think it must be some sort of obsessive-compulsive disorder."

Just then, the object of their conversation straightened and turned in their direction. Fab heard his guest's sharp intake of breath. "It's okay, Lynnie, go ahead and ogle the scenery. B and Livia rarely help out in the kitchen these days, but they certainly manage to make it out here to drool at our friendly neighborhood exhibitionist. I suppose you, too, find him breathtaking?" he sighed.

Lynnie barely paid his question notice. "Um, yes. Yes, he is that." But to herself rather than Fab, she murmured, "Mister, I don't know exactly who you are—but I know what you are. You and I are going to have to have a talk."

* * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, on the stairway in the front hall, Laura and Sal were assisting and coaxing their hostess down from the upper floor of the house. Sway-backed from the burden in her belly, Beatrice was making only slow progress. Fear began to glimmer in her two companions' eyes at the enormity of their task, as they realized that, given her current massiveness, were she to tumble they might not have the strength to contain her fall.

Suddenly, a loud banging and a crunch of metal on metal out in front of the house startled the trio on the stairs. Immediately, they saw Lynnie sprint from the kitchen into the hallway. "Damn, B, you live in a noisy neighborhood!" With that she flung open the front door. "Uh-oh," she called up to her friends, "Somebody's rear-ended one of the Lexuses."

In a flash, Beatrice discarded her caution, and breaking with elephantine ferocity from her handlers she managed to fly down the stairs, praying frantically all the while, "Let it be Livia's, let it be Livia's, let it be Livia's." Pulling up short next to Lynnie in the doorway, she caught sight of the blue Lexus sitting battered in the drive, a small crumpled red car behind it seemingly welded to the trunk. Next to it, its twin—her own, still-immaculate green model—gleamed in the sunlight. Letting out a whoop of relief, she grabbed the rosary around her neck. "Thank you, St. Gio, thank you," she muttered reverently.

Fabiano had by now joined Lynnie and Beatrice at the front door, just in time to observe a young, bearded man emerging from the mangled red car. "Oh no, it's my godson! Where did he come from?" he exclaimed. "Cris!" he called out to his new visitor, "What the hell—"

Preoccupied, the younger man interrupted him. "I'm looking for Laura, Uncle Fab. Cal said she's here! Is that true?"

"Cris!" repeated his uncle. "Pay attention! Look what you've done!"

Blinking, Cristoforo turned and took in the damage to the blue Lexus and to his own car. "Oh, sorry," he said, distractedly. Then, not to be deterred from his mission, he reached into his own front seat and pulled out a flat box, tied up with string, large enough to hold a thick winter coat. Again he asked, "Is Laura here?"

Fabiano hustled down the steps of the porch and accosted the new arrival again. "Hey, that's quite a lot of damage you inflicted with that red bomber of yours. You're going to have some explaining to do to your Uncle Tino and Aunt Livia." The young man nodded absently, his eyes darting up towards the house. Defeated by his nephew's single-mindedness, Fab hugged the lad and said, "All right, all right, just be warned, there'll probably be hell to pay. But anyway, yes, there _is_ a Laura staying here. She's from Korea. Is that who you're looking for?"

Quick as a cougar, Cristoforo leapt up the steps, taking them two at a time, and without ceremony pressed past the women in the entranceway. Sal and Laura stood halfway up the stairs, still stunned by the sudden swiftness of Beatrice's escape. Laura's eyes widened as she saw the young man crashing wild-eyed through the door. As the other occupants of the house looked on in bewilderment, the two young people's eyes locked on each other, oblivious to everyone else in the room. A shock of recognition took possession of Laura's features and she leaned against the railing to steady herself. Watching from beside her, Sal saw her friend's mouth silently forming the name, "Carlo."

As Laura and Cris gazed at each other, momentarily frozen in place, Sal slipped silently down the steps and shepherded the rest of the crowd into the kitchen. "I think I know what's going on here," she explained. "Laura told me on the plane that she knew a Rossi called Carlo, and I think that's the same guy, whatever his name really is. Let's give them some privacy." For the moment, the host and hostess retreated to the kitchen table to leave the younger pair in peace. But as Sal prepared to seat herself with them, Lynnie tugged at her arm and drew her out onto the patio.

* * * * * * * * *

Settled into one of the lawn chairs the two uncles had occupied earlier that afternoon, Lynnie glanced around questioningly. "It sure is quiet out here," she remarked.

Sitting beside her, Sal's eyes strayed around the yard, too. "Why wouldn't it be? Are you looking for somebody?"

"Their neighbor was just here starting to cut his grass a few minutes ago, but now he's disappeared. That's his lawn mower over there," she pointed.

"He must have finished up really fast! The grass couldn't look any better."

"No, that's how it looked before he started mowing. There's more here than meets the eye, Sal, and I have my suspicions what it is. I'm going to investigate when I get a chance, and I'll fill you in later. If he comes back out, that is."

Sal waved a hand at her friend's face to draw her attention back from the neighboring yard. "So what did you pull me out here to talk about, Lynnie?"

"Just wanted to powwow with my partner. We haven't been alone ever since you arrived, so it's been impossible to hold a business meeting."

"The dream interpretation business, do you mean?"

"Yeah, call 1-800-REM-REM," Lynnie quoted their business card. "By the way, I think I figured out why we never got any calls. Our phone number doesn't have enough digits."

"Oh, well, thank goodness for our website then. Look, Lynnie, I've been doing some research since we last talked, and I wanted to share my thoughts with you. I know most of the dreams we analyze have their roots in the unconscious, in the dreamers' fears and desires and obsessions. But, there are other types of dreams I've been running into that I couldn't get a handle on and I think I understand now where they come from."

"I was going to say the same thing. I wonder if we're reading each other's minds. And by the way, if you're reading _my_ mind, Sal, I'm afraid I'm going to have to wash yours out with soap when we're through here."

"Okay, let me tell you my idea. You know how you told me you sometimes are haunted in your sleep by two young guys who are always testing you? How you feel drawn to them—not romantically but, still, connected somehow? Well, I've run into other people who report something similar. For instance, I rode back from the airport with Paula, and she had the same sort of experience, except there were _four_ people bedeviling her, and they were all short, like dwarfs. And a while back I was emailing with Bee and she mentioned these dreams where she's been prematurely aged, like she's as old as you."

"Oh, the horrors. So what are you taking away from this? That there are monstrous forces at work after we go to sleep trying to scare the bejesus out of us? But actually these young guys in my dreams may be trying to make me have a stroke, but somehow I still find them rather endearing. Of course, my unconscious may be unusually warped, erm, I mean fascinatingly complex, compared to other people."

"Monstrous forces? No!" exclaimed Sal excitedly, warming to her subject. So animated had the girl become, she was fairly bouncing in her chair now. "I think dreams like this have nothing to do with your unconscious. I think they're broadcasts from an alternative conscious, something that exists in another dimension or another universe. You know how Gio and the Rossis came here from Ugly Betty Land? Well, what if there are _lots_ of other universes, too, and what if people can exist in more than one and have different lives in each of them? Like maybe somewhere else you have two sons and Paula's got four little kids."

"So maybe there's a world where I can get my hands on Freddy R because he's not engaged to Misty there? That would be sweet."

"Who knows? Maybe. I've talked to several other Getties and I think some of the unattached ones, like Fen and Roman and Katrina and Bee, seem to have husbands in another universe, and Livia has a different husband! And Juna's married to a vampire, which of course we know doesn't exist in _our_ universe. On the other hand, Rachael and Elena seem _not_ to have husbands in the other universe."

"No Feddy? Too bad, but I bet at least Elena's a lot more well rested there."

"And Rachael is way younger than here. Steph Talbot and Stu seem to have the same husband in both places, though, so my theory is that because of different concurrences of events in different universes, people who are connected here may _or_ may not get the chance to bump into each other in the next universe over. And who knows? Maybe some live in more than two realities. Maybe some of us exist in dozens."

"This sounds different from the Rossis. They used to live in one universe—Ugly Betty Land—and then they ended up in a different one—here—and then Gio went back to the first. I must say they adjusted really well to the move. But they were only ever in one universe at a time, at least that I can see."

"I'd have to interview them further to know that for sure, but you may be right. It doesn't seem that a single Getty has a Rossi mate in her other life, and yet here we're surrounded by them. And I definitely _have_ talked to plenty of other people who have not had this type of dream at all. But never a Getty Girl. I think that it may be a defining feature of Getties: we all live double lives."

"So we all get do-overs," commented Lynnie. "Lately I've dreamed of shopping for kitchen counters night after night after night. It was exhausting, not to mention boring, so I'm just as happy that in this universe we simply stick with lovely classic formica and that's that."

"Formica is unspeakably elegant. The aesthetics of our own universe do seem to be the best. But it's not do-overs, Lynnie, it's do-alsos, we don't get a second chance to pick, we get ALL our picks. And certain dreams allow us to experience our other lives a little bit. If—and this is a big if—what I'm thinking is true."

"What's the significance for our business, though?"

"That we need to develop a sense of which kind of dream is which, so we aren't rooting around in a person's inner child for a meaning that really comes out of a galaxy far, far away. Is that what you were going to tell me you discovered, Lynnie?"

But Lynnie seemed suddenly seemed distracted, ignoring her partner's question. "Look," she piped up, "there's the next door neighbor again. Sawyero I believe his name is. I think I'd like to research him. I do believe there's actually more to him than meets the eye."

Sal's eyes shifted to the adjacent yard and her eyebrows rose sharply. "Really? More? Because what meets the eye is pretty overwhelming." She scanned her friend's face, trying to assess her reaction to the man who had just come back into sight. "This research wouldn't be focused on getting a sampling of what those muscle-y arms feel like, would it?"

"I might have to force myself to find out, if necessary. But it's not just . . . Wait! Who's this?" Another man, tall, pale and handsome, had entered the yard, headed straight for Sawyero. Lynnie squinted, "Oho, a familiar face. This does not surprise me at all."

"You're seeming frakking mysterious, Lynnie. Are you going to explain? Because you're kind of bugging me."

"Not now, my pretty. All in good time, all in good time." Lynnie seemed to be smiling to herself now. Or was she frowning? At any rate, she looked as inscrutable as a cat.

* * * * * * * * *

Laura descended the stairway. "Carlo, I didn't know you would be here. I was hoping, but nobody mentioned you, or even seemed to know you when I asked."

The man she had addressed looked at his feet, shame-faced. "That's because my name's not Carlo."

Laura shook her head. "I don't understand."

Then, all of a sudden Tino was in the room with them. Despite his short stature, anger inflated his presence until his compact form seemed to fill the whole entranceway. "Who smashed my wife's car?" he roared. At that point, he caught sight of his nephew. "Oh my God, Cris, it's you!" he exclaimed, knitting his eyebrows into a dark scowl. "I should have known!"

Quick as a wink, Fab was at the kitchen door motioning to his brother. "Tino! Tino! Come over here! Leave them be!"

Glaring, Tino made his way towards Fab. "But Livia's car . . . !"

". . . is a mess. I know that," replied Fabiano. "And it will be a mess an hour from now—you can ream him out then. But right now, let him alone. I think he's doing something important." Awkwardly, Beatrice pushed herself out of her chair and taking each brother by an arm pulled them back to the table. Then in ungainly fashion, she tiptoed over to take their place at the door.

"B . . . " admonished her husband, but she threw a hand at him and shushed him. "I just want to watch," she complained. "They don't even know I'm here."

Laura walked up to Cris and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "The Rossi uncle said 'Cris.' Is that your real name?"

He nodded, still not looking her in the eye. "It's Cristoforo.

"But why did you not tell me?"

Cris's eyes shot around the room, saw refuge on the sofa, and taking her hand, pulled her down beside him. He placed the package under his arm on the nearby coffee table and turned to explain, "I was afraid you'd ask my family about me. Or at least ask the Getty Girls, and then they'd ask the Rossis and then you'd know."

"Know what?"

"That I'm the black sheep."

"Black . . . What does that mean?"

"The family screw-up, a loser."

Smile lines appeared on Laura's face. "Well, you're accident-prone, but I already knew that. After all, you knocked me down the first time we met."

"And I don't have a job."

"I know. I was around when you got fired, remember?"

"Wherever I go things go wrong. I can't keep my mind on . . ."

Laura patted her friend's shoulder sympathetically, "You don't always pay attention. Your brain is working too hard up here . . ." she pointed to his head "you're always thinking about so many things." Her eyes softened. "You just need to learn how to be more organized. Or find somebody to help you be organized." At those words, Cris shot a look at her so intense she pulled back involuntarily. "What? What are you thinking?"

"Now you know the truth about me, can we still be friends?"

"Of course. Why not? I always knew the truth about you."

"But could we be . . . ?" He halted, searching for the words.

Laura shook her head, not comprehending where his questions were leading.

"Laura, do you remember when I was over in Korea and you went away to visit your family?"

"Yes."

"I came to the square and I waited for you and you didn't show up. It was clear and sunny that day, and I hated it."

"You hated the sun?"

"Yes, because it was shining for all those other people and I felt like it was raining in my head. Then two days later you came back and the sunlight was fine again. It felt . . . it felt okay, it felt right. Do you know what I'm telling you?"

Trying to be agreeable, Laura nodded, but a moment later she shook her head. "No, to be honest, I don't."

"When you came back and it felt so good, that's when I _knew._ I tried to tell you but I couldn't somehow, and then I had to go away. Do you recall the day I left?"

All of a sudden, Laura's pretty complexion was blushing bright pink. "I do."

"I—I kissed you. You might not remember . . . "

Her eyes looked large as saucers now. "Oh, I do. I do remember. And then you got on the bus and waved to me. And then you left. All day, all I could see over and over was you waving to me. All I could feel was your lips on mine."

The man beside her sat transfixed, his eyes unable to leave her face. His chest heaved violently, as he expelled a sigh that rose from deep within him. "You were all right with it, then?"

"I was miserable. The next day I just cried and cried."

Cris looked inconsolable now. "I'm sorry. I was hoping you liked it."

"I did like it. I was crying because all I could think was that you were gone and that nobody would ever kiss me again. Or if they did, it wouldn't be the same. Because it wouldn't be you."

For a moment, Cris sat still as a statue on the sofa. The room was completely silent. Then, quick as a flash, he scrambled off his seat and onto his knees on the carpet.

In the doorway, Beatrice clutched at her chest. "Omigod!" she exclaimed, glancing over at the uncles. "Omigod, I think he's proposing." In an instant the others crammed around her at the door. The couple in the living room took no notice.

"Laura!" Her suitor clutched both her hands lying in her lap. "Laura, you're the only girl I ever felt like this about. You're the only woman I want. For my whole life! Do you think you could ever . . . ? I mean, would it be asking too much?" Suddenly, he grabbed the package from the coffee table and thrust it into her arms.

At the door, Beatrice whispered _sotto voce,_ "If that's a ring, it's the biggest one I ever saw."

The expectant suitor's voice was quivering now, hope and terror at war in his face. "What I'm asking is, would you mind marrying me?"

His beloved's hand flew to his cheek. "No, of course I wouldn't. I mean, yes! Yes, I'll marry you!"

His face, smiling at last, was wreathed in dimples and speckles of light danced in his eyes. "You will?"

"Yes!"

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes!"

"On Saturday?"

"Yes!" Then, as his last words penetrated her brain, shock overtook her. "Wait! What?"

* * * * * * * * *

As Sal and Lynnie watched, Sawyero and his visitor disappeared together into the house next door.

Sal turned back to her friend. "Lynnie, were you going to tell me what you've found out about dreams?"

Lynnie shook her head. "Maybe later. I want a chance to turn it over in my mind some more. But what we haven't talked about at all yet is how your life is going. What projects are you working on now?"

"I just finished a film that's going to be hitting a few of the alternative film festivals over here in mid-Summer. I hope you get to see it. As to what's next, I don't know and I'm finding it hard to think ahead right now. I guess I haven't yet shaken off the effects of that plane crash yesterday. Still in shock, I suppose."

"You said Laura was on the plane, too. She seems none the worse for it, thank God. And then there were two Rossis?"

"Yes, Valentino's brothers Eliseo and Matteo—identical twins—" Sal's voice faltered a little as she spoke of her new friends, and Lynnie was quick to notice.

"Tell me about them. What was Eliseo like?"

Sal's face lit up. "Oh, really nice. Very friendly, very cute. He's planning to open a bar here on Rossi Row, with his twin, of course. He's personable, and I can quite see him hosting a tavern."

"Nice, is he? Then did you two hit it off? Any chance you might hook up?"

Sal laughed. "We hit it off quite well, but not in that way. Any way, he already has a hook-up here of sorts—they both do. Eliseo's been pen-palling with Fen and Matteo with Nena and they're booked to date them for Mel's wedding. Eliseo looks athletic and he was mentioning he liked feisty women. He and Fen should hit it off great."

Lynnie was relieved to observe from her friend's open face that she seemed fine with the possibilities of Eliseo and Fen. But she was still curious, "What about the other brother?"

"Matt?" Sal's voice was cooler now, as she examined her fingernails nonchalantly. "He was quite pleasant, too."

"And do you think he and Nena will get on?"

"Well, sure, everybody likes Nena. Even Rachael likes Nena and she broke up her marriage."

Lynnie's ears perked up. Sal was sounding a tiny bit resentful, and that wasn't like her. She probed the young Australian a little further. "But do you think he and Nena will have anything in common?"

"Yes, they're both artistic. He's an amateur photographer. He seems to have aspirations to earn a living at it someday."

"And you're a photographer, too."

"Actually, he asked me to look at his photos and give him a professional opinion. I'm sort of anxious about that. I mean," she responded to the question mark in Lynnie's expression, "I gather he's tried to sell his stuff for awhile and not been successful. What if his stuff sucks? What do I say then?"

"That it sucks."

"Lynnie!"

"In a kind way, of course. You would do that anyway. It's not a party to have to give somebody bad news, but you don't need me to tell you, if he's asked for an honest assessment that's what you should give him. No point shoveling manure."

Sal was checking out the fingernails on her other hand now. She nodded.

"What are you not telling me, Sal? Are you afraid he'll get unpleasant? Does he seem temperamental? Are these two, like, good twin, bad twin?"

"Not at all, I told you he was nice. In fact, when the plane was falling and we were all facing certain death—well, he hugged me."

"And you liked it."

"No! I mean, right then I had other things on my mind. But it was a thoughtful gesture to a stranger. So I'd hate having to disappoint him now, that's all. Can we get off this subject, please? It's not worth talking about. I hardly know these guys." Suddenly she hopped up from her chair, ending their conversation abruptly.

"Sure," said Lynnie. "Let's get back inside and check on Laura." Nevertheless, she lingered a little longer, watching her friend stride toward the house. Under her breath she muttered, "Uh-oh, my little Salamander. Has somebody stolen a piece of your heart? I hope they treat it tenderly."

* * * * * * * * *

Before Cristoforo could expand upon his request for a quick turnaround on his proposal, spontaneous applause erupted from the kitchen door. Peering around startled, Cris scowled. "I thought we were alone. This is private."

"No, no," chided Laura. "This is special news I want to share. It's all right, Cris. I feel so happy, I want everyone I love to know about us. Don't you feel the same?"

"I suppose," nodded Cris grudgingly, allowing himself to be hugged by his aunt and uncles, who now swarmed around them.

Beatrice was clearly growing exasperated. Her biggest question had not yet been answered. "Whoa, I'm so happy for you, but what's in the box, Cris?" she demanded.

"Wait, wait!" Feeling the crowd close in on him, Cris began hopping around. "I'm not done!" He swung around to face his light of love once more. "Laura, I asked, will you marry me on Saturday?"

Laura shook her head gently. "I guess you don't know, Carlo—I mean Cris—but a friend of mine is already getting married Saturday. Another Getty girl, Melissa. She asked me to be maid of honor at _her_ wedding that day."

"No, she didn't," declared Cris impatiently. "I did!"

Laura frowned, bewildered. English was not her first language, and she thought that must be the reason she was failing to comprehend his meaning. However, those around her seemed equally baffled.

Hearing the others fall silent, Cris hastened to explain to his fiancée. "You see, the man your friend is marrying just happens to be my twin brother Calvino. When he told me about the wedding, I asked him if we could have a double wedding. Him and me, standing side by side, each saying our vows. That was, presuming you'd accept me. But I hadn't proposed yet, so I had to get you here. That's why I pretended to be Melissa's social secretary and asked you . . ."

"Fine, fine, we get it," prodded Beatrice. "So, now, the box?"

Ignoring his aunt, he turned back to address his bride-to-be directly. "It's a white dress. I bought it at a wedding shop. You'll need one Saturday."

Beatrice patted Laura's shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry, sista, you don't have to wear it. We'll find something else. We have three days."

"No, I want this one," stated her friend firmly. Then she leaned over and kissed the cheek of the man bestowing the dress. "I want to get married Saturday if it's all right with Melissa, and I want this dress because Cris picked it for me. I know it will be perfect." With that, she slid the string off the box and lifted off the top to reveal a fitted gown topped with an insert of antique-looking lace that narrowed into a high neck. The sleeves were leg-o-mutton shaped, with multiple tiny pearl-like buttons at the wrists, and a similar row of buttons descending the back.

"Oh, you picked a good one, Cris," exclaimed Beatrice with some surprise. "That's quite old-fashioned and romantic. Hey, there, nephew," she slapped him affectionately on the chest. "You didn't screw up this time. Laura, do you want to try it on?"

"I will in a minute. But first . . . " The young Korean's voice trailed off, as her eyes slid around the room seeking an escape route. Finally, they landed on the front door, still standing slightly ajar. She slipped her fingers through her fiancé's and, weaving her way around the tightly knotted threesome surrounding them, led him out the door. When they had crossed the threshold and stood alone on the front porch, she turned swiftly and addressed their small audience with a polite, business-like "Excuse us." Then, smartly and emphatically she pulled the door shut.

Cris's glance now shot over to the all too intimately conjoined Lexus and Civic. Anxiously he scanned his beloved's face, steeling himself for a private scolding. "What is it? Is it about the cars, because I really haven't forgotten . . ."

"No, you _have_ forgotten . . ."

". . . No, really . . ."

"You forgot to mention. Do you love me? Because if not, Cris, the engagement is off."

"Oh, that!" Her suitor relaxed and wound his arms around her waist, drawing her to him. "Of course I love you. I love you with my whole heart, Laura. Didn't you know?"

"I was hoping, but . . . it's nice to hear you say it."

"Oh oh oh oh! I also forgot something else." With that he slipped a forefinger under her chin and lifted her face to his. "You were right, I do need you to keep me organized, so I don't forget to do this." And leaning in. he slipped his mouth over hers and kissed her until they both were breathless and glowing.

Damn! thought Tino, sneaking a peek at them out the window. Fab should have let me scold him about the car when I first arrived. Now, I'll never get that kid to concentrate!


	14. Scenes from an Afternoon: III Shadows

**This chapter is dedicated to Rltsweetie22591.**

Chapter 14

~ Scenes from an Afternoon: III. Shadows ~

The phone connection sucked but, constrained by a desire to avoid being eavesdropped on, the caller spoke in a muted voice despite the irritating static. "Finally, you answer your cell. Where are you? Will you get here soon?"

"I'm here already, quite nearby." The recipient of the call had adopted a similar hushed tone.

"Great! When can we meet, boss?"

"Not yet," came the whispered reply. "I've learned there's somebody on my tail, so I have to be circumspect. Luckily, I have a legitimate reason to be here, just as you do, I gather."

"Yes, I'm planning to—" The caller's voice grew muffled.

"I didn't hear that, but never mind," the other man said dismissively, impatient to get on with their conversation. "Anyway, it's good we don't need to come together right now, because I'll be tied up for the next few—" here the phone crackled loudly for a few seconds "—so hang in there, won't you?"

"But you do have something for me? You brought it through all right?"

"Yes, I brought that plus a much more exotic product, which I've already unloaded. I don't mind telling you, I'm glad to be rid of that! Now what remains is child's play. Rest assured, you'll get your Splen—"

A note of concern crept into the caller's tone. "You faded out there a little at the end. Did I hear you say Splenda? What the hell?"

"You know what I mean. Powdery, white, makes everything sweet."

"Ah, a little joke. _Very_ little. But did you say somebody's after you? Who?"

"I don't know. Probably the law. That's why I have to be careful. So many strangers around, it could be anyone. And that's not . . ." His voice had faded away again.

His listener shook his own cell phone in disgust. "Are you still there? I didn't hear you."

"I said, it turns out another confederate of mine is in the vicinity, too, somebody I wasn't expecting. I pray to God he won't give me away."

"You work with too many people."

"In my line of business, it can't be helped. I have to use whoever's available."

"And this excuse you've come up with to stick around, is it plausible?"

Damn, he sounds anxious, mused his listener. All these nitpicky questions! That's what comes from working with the relatively inexperienced. Aloud, he chided, "Do you think I'm an amateur? Of course, it's plausible. Plausible and, I hope, pleasurable."

"Wait a sec! What about what you told me about not mixing business with pleasure . . ."

"That was my advice for _you,_ grasshopper. Take care not to have more on your plate than you can handle. I, on the other hand, am an old hand and can manage both, I promise you."

"Hmmm, so can I take it that your alibi involves a woman?" A note of lascivious admiration had entered the caller's voice.

"Whenever possible, believe me."

"And this time?"

"A very attractive woman indeed."

"Okay, so I'll wait for you to contact me when you're ready for the drop. In the meantime, enjoy yourself." With that, the caller flipped the phone shut, muttering to himself, "And so will I, boss, no matter what you say."

* * * * * * * * *

Night or day? Emerging groggily from sleep, Rachael couldn't tell as she fought to lift lids weighty as manhole covers from her eyes. Ears cocked to hear his breathing, she sensed he was in the room. "Edward?"

Seated in the old rocker, back turned toward the thick drapes he had drawn to block the invasion of the daylight, her husband lifted his chin abruptly. He had been watching over her as she slumbered, his mind racing as he struggled to compose what he would say when this moment came. "I'm here, my love. Awake so soon?"

"Why? What time is it?"

"Mid-afternoon. You've only napped a couple of hours. I was hoping you could sleep through the night, to catch up what you lost."

"I—I think a dream woke me. Something weird and scary. We were in a forest. The trees were dripping with blood, and I was afraid. I was afraid because—because you were afraid, too. I don't remember clearly. Where did that come from? What could it mean?"

"Undoubtedly the dream was simply a byproduct of what you suffered in the hours between last night and when the medicine arrived."

"The medicine," she murmured and fell silent. Edward waited, dreading the question to come. "I know you wouldn't give me anything which could hurt me, but that medicine—I feel numb, almost paralyzed. What's in it? What does it do?"

"It calms and nourishes the child inside you, prepares it to enter the world armed to withstand its disease. And it allows you to tolerate its presence within you until it's ready to be born. I told you it would make you uncomfortable, and—I'm so sorry—that's undoubtedly what you're feeling now. But isn't it infinitely better than the pain you were suffering all last night and this morning?"

"Yes."

"And the doctor I told you about. He's very learned, very talented. He's studied this patient population for the whole of his career, and that's been a long, long time. He knows what he's doing, and he says you'll come out of this unscathed. . . . But listen," his low, mesmerizing voice continued to intone. "Now that you're awake, I should really go relieve Stephanie. She's been tied up managing the kids all day, and they've really been quite frettish. She's a patient, patient woman, and a good friend to you, but I think we've presumed on her kindness long enough. In the meantime, do you want me to ask someone else to come stay with you? Maybe one of your aunts? I know you've missed seeing the twins' godmother."

"No, I just want you. Besides, don't you remember? Beatrice is very pregnant herself. It's almost her due date, and Livia's, too. Anyway, I'm miffed at them lately. I know I put them in an awkward spot, sending Gio back to Ugly Betty Land the way I did. Melissa told me recently that all the Rossis are becoming restive to understand why he returned there, and that's got to be stressful to my aunties. But they did appreciate the money I gave them, and I've been more than generous in letting them remain close to the kids."

"So what's the problem?"

"It's their attitude toward you."

"They're always reasonably civil to me that I can see."

"Well, they haven't mooned you or anything, and don't think they wouldn't do it if they were truly against you. But it's the snide little things they say. Like the digs suggesting you're really a vampire, when I've told them again and again that you're not. It leads me to feel like they don't trust my judgment, and don't approve of my loyalty to you. They don't treat me like a grown-up, and it makes me mad. I want them to appreciate how good you are for me."

Edward hitched uncomfortably in his chair and lowered his voice even further. "Rachael, it's okay. I wouldn't want something like that to disrupt the bond between you and those closest to you." Suddenly his whisper seemed a world away, as though speaking to her from the rear of a deep cave.

Still blinded by the cloak of darkness in the room, stretching her fingers out in his direction, Rachael cried out, "Where are you?"

Edward reached the bed in two paces and gently scooped up her pale, slender hand in his larger one. "I'm here. I'm close, my love."

"Good," murmured his wife. "Edward, I just need you, nobody else. Don't go yet. Stephumz won't mind staying a little longer."

Her life's companion lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Folded like a delicate flower, her fingers wrapped around his thumb, it lay innocently like a child's in his larger paw. He allowed himself to treasure for a few moments longer the sweetness of her uncomplicated affection, for he feared that before this hour had flown by, the precious gift of unwavering faith with which she graced him now would vanish forever.

* * * * * * * * *

Half an hour later, Edward sat erect with his spine pressed against the headboard, his legs stretched along the bed parallel to his wife's. Rachael's head rested limply against his chest. His arm circled her shoulders, his hand stroking her upper arm. He understood that he was playing for time, stealing minutes of communion with his love that no longer rightfully belonged to him.

A gentle tapping was heard outside. As the door slid softly open, a thin strip of light from the hallway fell across the floor and Stephanie inserted her head through the crack, squinting into the darkness. "Oh, good, you're awake, Rachael. How do you feel?"

"Weak," her friend replied, sounding exhausted. "But way better than before."

"I just put the kids to bed for a nap. They've worn themselves out and should be down for awhile. I just wondered if you'll need me much longer? It's fine if you do, but I have to let Val know. His brothers are visiting, plus we're having extra company for dinner, so we've got to do some planning."

Edward replied. "Stephanie, we wouldn't dream of imposing further. We'll never forget how you helped us today, but run along home now. I can take over from here. If need be, there are others who I'm sure would be glad to step in."

As soon as Steph was gone, Rachael spoke up to forestall any suggestion Edward might proffer. "Whatever you're thinking, I don't want my aunts. I know they don't mean anything with their vampire teasing, but lately it gets me down. I wish they'd realize you wouldn't lie to me. You love me too much to ever put me at risk that way. You told me you'd always be truthful with me, and I know you're a man of your word."

Taken aback by the vehemence of her declaration, Edward felt hot tears of mortification suddenly flooding down his cheeks. His wife's eyes, by now adjusted to the gloom of the room, saw the noble contours of his face contorted with grief. Alarmed, she spoke to him urgently, "What is it? What's wrong? Did I say something to upset you? Really, don't mind what any of my friends say about you. I believe in you, only you . . ."

"Don't!" A sob of infinite torment broke from his throat. Gone was the velvet baritone, as he rasped out words harsh and strangled. "You don't know me at all! You're just my dupe, my shill! You poor little sucker, you understand nothing!"

A frisson of shock rippled through Rachael's fragile frame. She barely recognized her husband like this. "Edward, stop! You're upsetting me. You don't even sound like yourself!" Woozily she tried to prop herself up by one arm so she could turn and take in her husband's visage. "Why are you saying such stupid things?"

"It's not true that I wouldn't lie to you. Earlier today, Stephanie guessed—oh, not what my secret is, but that I was keeping something from you. She made me promise to come clean. Anyway, I've known all along that I'd have to, ever since you got pregnant." He buried his face in his hands.

"Your secret? What is it?" Despite her physical sluggishness, a nameless fear galvanized her restless mind.

"It's just what your aunts hinted at. They don't really know, of course. They think they're just ragging me, to get my goat. But they're exactly right. I am what they say I am."

"But that can't be. They say you're a—"

"A vampire, yes!"

* * * * * * * * *

Rachael dropped back on her pillow. Vampire! As violently as her progeny had attacked her from within the previous night, it was nothing to her sense at that moment of having been punched in the gut. Her mind worked feverishly to make sense of what she was hearing. For a moment, she lay limply, puzzling over her husband's revelation. "But I know something about vampires," she said finally. "None of which fits what I know about you. Well, except for the sparkling thing. I'm sorry, Edward, but you know, you _do_ sparkle a bit."

"That's not the half if it!" A rueful grimace now twisted her husband's features. "What is it you think you know?"

"Number one is that there are no such things as vampires. They're mythical beings."

"Yes, that's what we want the world to believe. We've worked hard to promote that idea, for our own safety. Mostly, we've been successful, but every now and then some ambitious scribbler writes down new speculations about us to market for fun and profit. Luckily, up until recently, their writings have been bunk, revealing more about their own rancid imaginations than about our true way of life."

"What did they get wrong?"

"Where do I begin? How about the stuff about not seeing ourselves in mirrors? Face it, we're so pretty, it would be a crime if we couldn't groom and admire ourselves. Thank God that's all a crock. Also the idea that garlic makes us cower in fear. Now, come on! Really!" He sounded offended at the idea. "A calumny obviously proffered by the garlic industry. Nobody wants garlic-breath—_not_ a selling point for their product—but if it can be claimed to keep scary vampires away, ooooo, _then_ it's a hot item. We're fastidious and prefer not to kiss garlic-eaters, it's true, but that's all there is to that."

"If you're so fastidious, though, how can you bear to drink blood? Or do you drink blood? I've never seen you do it. Is that another tall tale?"

"I do indeed drink it. Actually I chug it. But only animal blood. On the other hand, vampires historically have stuck almost exclusively to human blood, and it's the sorry fact that many persist in that practice to the present day. It's the one thing even the chroniclers of old got right, But aside from that they were mostly talking through their hats. Unfortunately, the more recent literature about us has struck much closer to home than earlier works. It's put a scare into all members of our race."

Rachael desired nothing more than to be convinced that Edward was spinning tales for some arcane reason, that none of what he said was true. But his earnestness seemed unbreachable. Fear and repulsion increasingly clutched at her heart. Still struggling to deny what she was coming to believe, she continued to press him. "They say vampires don't sleep. You do. They say that vampires don't age, but you're certainly older than you were when I knew you in high school, and so are your brothers and sisters, who, I take it, are also supposedly vampires. They say vampires can't digest food and must throw up after eating. I've never known you to do that. They say the super-strength of vampires prevents them from safely making love with humans. But Edward, you've made love to me hundreds of times and you're forceful, but also gentle. Your caresses are so tender. You've never hurt me. You can't be a vampire. None of it fits."

"Except what the child within you has shown you. That fits. Think about that. How else do you explain what's happened to you in the last 24 hours?"

"How do you explain what _hasn't_ happened with _you?_"

"I can see you're hoping that there is no explanation, but I assure you, Rachael, there is. And it's a long story—a story of the wonders of science and, unfortunately, the limits of science, as well."

* * * * * * * * *

Rachael was lying utterly still now, her sunken eyes staring fixedly into space, seemingly so as to avoid meeting her husband's gaze. Awash in a wave of pity for the enfeebled woman on the bed, Edward reached over to lovingly sweep a few stray strands of hair from her face, only to see his wife flinch under his touch. That had never happened before, and the hurt of it cut him to his marrow. Retreating again to the rocker across the room, he began his story of explanation.

"Dearest one, I once embodied all the traits that you described: I did not sleep, I ate only rarely, to keep up appearances, and then regurgitated what I ate. I hid from bright sunlight. I possessed a strength I could not control. And I had the power to read minds—an awful gift, indeed, especially when you are stuck in high school for decades on end. The minds of some high school kids can be shallow and cruel indeed, and I could not escape the knowledge of their disdain. They thought me beautiful but creepy, and I don't doubt I would have thought the same had I been one of them. You see, I am not really your age, Rachael. Oh, physically I am, but I was born over a century ago and at 17 was turned into what I became, seemingly for all eternity." He chuckled mirthlessly, "An eternal existence sampling secondary education across the ages. What a fate."

Rachael frowned. "But you've never spoken of those early decades of yours."

"Ah, that was by design, in order to preserve the illusion of my youth. The vigilance required was unimaginable, and actually I did slip up with you a handful of times, mentioning my life back then. At those times, I held my breath, waiting for you to catch on and grill me about it, but in each instance, my flub escaped your notice. I think there's something in the way our brains work which discounts information that doesn't conform to what we believe we know."

"You haven't told me how you came to be changed into what you're like today."

"I'm just coming to that. The answer derives from the work of a great and wise scientist, Doctoro Giuseppe Capucci. You see, he himself was turned into a vampire—I'm not sure why or by whom—when he was quite a young man. He had only been practicing medicine a year at the time. His specialty was surgery, but of course he had to give it up. All that blood—he could not have withstood the temptation. And that's not all he gave up. He had a fiancée, Isabella, whom he adored. They had planned to marry soon, but as is often the way with passionate young people, he had lured her to the bridal bed before making her his bride, and she had conceived. It seemed of little matter at the time. In those days and in that place, giving birth out of wedlock carried a heavy stigma. That didn't worry them, though, for they planned to be wed well before her pregnancy came to term. But then the unthinkable happened, and after his transformation he forced himself to renounce her."

Rachael's eyes widened in wonder. "He broke it off, with a baby coming? But why?"

"Capucci felt he had no choice. He foresaw a future in which she would become gray and stooped with age, whereas he would retain his vigor and beauty forever. He could not follow her into the waning years of life and feared she would come to resent him for it. Nor could he ever make love to her again without putting her safety at risk, not with his newly enhanced strength. And he knew that the temptation to turn her as he had been turned would be overpowering. He took no pleasure in his own metamorphosis, and he did not wish to curse her in the same way—not her or their child."

"The mother and child—what happened to them?"

"They stayed with her family, though that was not a happy solution. She was of course shunned by society for giving birth to a bastard and in those days--it was the late 1800s then--bastards themselves shared their mother's shame. The doctor watched this from afar, and his heart broke, for he knew that she had come to hate him and that he would never know his only son. But he still believed that, devastating though it was, a clean break was preferable to forcing her to endure a marital sham in which every day, every night would bring the pain of new carnal rejection, and every year would bring a deepening of estrangement.

Rachael sighed and closed her eyes. She seemed infinitely weary. "That was a sad story, but you are taking a long time to tell it, and I'm so tired. Can't you explain what this has to do with you—with us?"

"Of course, sweetheart. From the moment he abandoned his Isabella, Doctoro Capucci devoted his life to a single mission: discovering the means of making our kind more human, finding a way that we could live safely and intimately among humans and even take a human lover. To that end, he pursued the research of vampire biology, a field little developed at the time, because vampires so rarely needed medical aid. The task was all the harder, because there are no vampire cadavers to be had. The rare occasions on which we perish, we have to be burned or else remain animated. So he had to work with living tissue specimens, including blood samples, and that required years of excruciating self-control. And he traveled broadly, always seeking new substances with medicinal properties that could mold the physical processes that rule our bodies."

Edward stopped here and glanced over at the bed to see whether his listener was still awake. Seeing that her eyes had re-opened, he continued. "After much experimentation, the doctor hit on a combination of pharmaceuticals that would restore vampires to a kind of functioning that mimicked human physiology. I'm not sure what exactly in involved—I'm no medico—but I gather it's a combination of muscle relaxants, digestive aids, soporifics, plus something that modifies the enzyme that produces sparkling. Most important, he found something which inhibits production of the hormone that blocks cellular disintegration, the secret of our immortality. Now, many, perhaps even most vampires have no wish to become more human, but for those of us who do, Giuseppe Capucci is a hero. He and a few volunteer test subjects pioneered the resultant drug cocktail early on, with themselves as the guinea pigs. For several decades, he recorded its side effects and tweaked its effectiveness. Finally, he began marketing it surreptitiously within our community right around the year you were starting high school. When I took it for the first time, I had already met and fallen in love with you, and it gave me the hope that some day we would become close."

"And the blood you must consume?"

"Ah, that was the good doctor's little joke. You know that mouthwash of mine that you hate the smell of? In truth, vampires have no need of mouthwash, for the bacteria which produce halitosis in the human mouth cannot survive in ours. That mouthwash is actually a formula based on pasteurized animal blood and we actually do swallow it. The foul odor vanishes within seconds of our imbibing it, but is noxious enough to prevent innocent humans from taking a chug."

"What about the medicine I'm taking?"

"In the last few years, some male vampires who have taken human women as partners have inevitably erred as I did in trusting to their own mastery of their reproductive lives to prevent pregnancy. Of course, it was always the woman who suffered. Well, the good doctor began aging 40 years ago and is now past the prime of life, but he's still professionally active. So now he took on a new mission. He devised a treatment designed to protect human mothers and their crossbreed babies to survive and flourish throughout the course of pregnancy. It combines many ingredients of the drug I take regularly, but with the addition of special superpotent muscle relaxants and extremely powerful painkillers. And another thing--it contains rodent blood."

"Oh, ugh! I drank blood?" Rachael's sour face betrayed her horror and nausea at the thought.

"You did. I know the thought disgusts you, but the fetus needs it. And, be truthful, you felt no sickness from the blood until just now when I revealed what you had consumed."

His wife nodded grudgingly. "That's true. And the medicine did help. Thank heaven that doctor knew what he was doing. I don't know how long I could have survived."

"The disgrace of our situation is that living the life we choose requires us to live outside the law. Many of the ingredients in the medications Capucci devised are proscribed, some for no better reason than fear and superstition. In particular, the medicine you took today—okay, it has mega-painkillers, but under a physician's care, it's safe. Yet the doctor and I were forced to rely on a criminal to transport it. An unsavory business indeed, being forced to risk prison and prosecution just to live healthy and pain free."

"I see." Rachael's hand moved to stroke her gently swelling belly. Right now, she had no concern for their legal jeopardy. She found herself focusing on a single word that Edward had uttered—"crossbreed"—until the word came to fill up her mind completely. So this was who had been attacking her from within her womb with such seeming savagery. It was not a demon, not a monster, but her own innocent child. Poor little thing, she thought, it's just ickle and doesn't know any better. Never mind, my sweet baby, your Mum loves you and always will. For the first time since her suffering had begun, she felt at peace.

Edward watched silently from across the room, wondering what was to become of the perfect life he had built for himself. For now, his wife was powerless to banish him. The medication was holding her pain at bay, but it also rendered physically helpless this woman he had so prized for her energy and vivacity. In time, though, she would face the decision of whether to forgive him or to dissolve their marriage, and he trembled with foreboding. In the end he had deceived her as devastatingly as had her first husband, albeit in a different way. He had coveted what belonged to another man, and ultimately had taken desperate steps to claim it as his own. Happiness should not be purchased at such a price, and if the love of his life spurned him in the end, perhaps that was the punishment that justice demanded.


	15. Scenes from an Afternoon IV Gli Italiani

**This chapter is dedicated to Maria7992.**

Chapter 15

~ Scenes from an Afternoon IV. Gli Italiani ~

As Bee floated down the stairs, she saw the door of Tino and Livia's abode burst open and suddenly the front hall seemed to shrink, as three tall men pressed into the room, filling up the space. She realized then why the resemblance between the Rossis and diRossis had not been immediately obvious to her when she had spotted them in their plane's waiting area during her trip to America. It was a question of scale. She had yet to meet a Rossi over 5'7" tall, but these fellows had about half a foot on most of the American brood.

Knowing that she had bad news to deliver, the young Norwegian author determined to put her best foot forward and strode forth energetically, offering her hand to the oldest of the three. "Hello, I'm Justicia Bee, the novelist. And you're Sergio diRossi, I remember you from the airport in London. I've been looking forward to our meeting."

The man with the curly dark hair threaded with silver around the temples appeared unaccountably puzzled, but took her hand in his own and waved in the direction of his two young companions. "A pleasure to meet you, erm, to meet you _again,_ that is. These are my sons Giacomo and Zanipolo. I hope you don't mind that we walked right in. We knocked once, but nobody answered and the door was ajar . . ."

"So sorry about that. I'm not sure where the lady of the house is, and I know our friend Katrina's out for a walk just now. But I think our host is out helping our latest arrival bring in her bags from her rental car. She's a writer like me, in fact a friend of yours, I believe—B.G. Roman."

"Roman? She is here already?" A happy, expectant lilt crept into his voice.

"Yes, and I'm glad, because I've got bad news, Sergio. I know you were counting on spending several hours with me, but something's come up and I'll have to postpone until tomorrow. Please don't be too disappointed. I think Roman will be happy to entertain you in my absence."

"Oh, sure. That's fine," he nodded distractedly. "And Roman, where is she?"

"Just behind you, coming up the sidewalk," responded Bee, relieved that the man was taking her cancellation of their date so well. The Italian director's head whipped around. When he caught sight of a man and woman headed for the house managing an assortment of luggage, he bounded down the steps, barreled past the man and swept the startled lady into his arms.

"Oof," sputtered Roman, dropping her garment bag from the force of the collision. "Who . . ? Oh, it's you, Sergio! You're here!" She was surprised but gratified by the warmth of his greeting. They had enjoyed a number of long phone conversations since their flight together, but he had never actually touched her before, beyond bumping elbows on the plane and taking her arm briefly before they parted. The frustrating memory of the kiss that hadn't happened that day still lingered in her mind.

"Yes. It is I, your most fervent admirer and reader! Let me take over your load." He stooped and scooped up the garment bag, then frowned. "Listen, is that blue car there yours? It looks quite banged up. Did somebody crash into you? Are you all right? How about your neck? They say that kind of thing is very bad for the neck." Here he lifted his free hand and probed the nape of her neck lightly. Roman felt an excited tingle ripple down her spine at his touch.

"No, no, that's Livia's car. Tino says it happened earlier today, but she wasn't in it, thank God. Mine's parked way over beyond that one and its green twin of Beatrice's in the next driveway over."

By now, Tino had reached the house, dumped his burden on the floor of the hall and turned to greet his new visitor. Having both heard from others of the supposedly strong resemblance between them, the two men scanned each other's countenances and each noted with satisfaction how handsome the other was. They shook hands, introduced themselves, and Sergio introduced his sons. The older boy broke into an easy grin and said, "Hi—it's a pleasure" in flawless English. The younger did not speak, just smiled briefly and nervously and nodded, then reverted to a stony expression.

Tino pointed out the door at a dumpy figure waddling up the porch steps. "My wife. She's been next door. A friend of hers just got engaged over there."

In the middle of embracing Bee, Roman turned to follow Tino's finger and was astonished to see how fat Livia had grown. Concerned that the woman might topple over at any moment from sheer massiveness, the Canadian trundled down the steps to hug her fellow Getty and support her into the house. "Livia," exclaimed Roman, "You're _so_ pregnant, so . . . so . . ."

"So . . . what, Roman? Rosy?" suggested Bee. "Glowing? Radiant?" Despite English not being her first language, the woman was a walking thesaurus.

"Obese," declared their hostess flatly. "The word you're looking for is obese. But I don't care, it's just all that baby inside me—two of 'em, you know. Once I deliver, I'll look perfectly normal again." Behind his wife's back, Tino rolled his eyes and shook his head at their friends, silently warning them not to correct her. Soon enough she would learn of the consequences of round-the-clock pizza. "So," continued Livia, glancing at the Italians for the first time. "Who have we got here? I'm Livia Rossi, by the way."

Introductions were made all around, and then the party drifted apart. Tino slipped into the study to deposit Roman's luggage and start making up the sleep-sofa with sheets and blankets so it would be all ready for their guest later at bedtime. Livia excused herself to call and instruct Feddy and Elena to deliver the teenage Getty girls, who were to spend the afternoon amusing Sergio's sons.

Justicia slipped back up to her bedroom and pulled out her cell. "Archie, I'm free now. Are you ready for me?"

"Ah, soon, dear lady. I just have a little business to attend to, then I'm all yours."

Justicia wrinkled her forehead. "Tampon business? You have tampon business here in California?"

"Yes, they're everywhere, you know—tampons. There's an associate I need to meet with and discuss, well, discuss our product. Won't take long, I assure you, old girl. I'll call you within the hour."

Bee flipped the phone closed, deep in thought. The man had just spent considerable time with his tampon-touting compatriots at the convention up north. Now, he had come south, ostensively for a vacation. Why was he still preoccupied with feminine hygiene concerns? Something just didn't ring true. But how was she going to get to the bottom of her charming new friend's mystery? Ah, well, she had an hour to think about it.

Peering out her bedroom window, she noticed Sergio and Roman now standing back out on the sidewalk, rapt in deep discussion. She appreciated that Sergio was doing his best to be gracious to Roman, not letting on that she had not been his first choice of companion that afternoon. Still, it concerned her that he seemed to be going unduly out of his way to play the gallant with her friend. Roman, who was such a provincial, was likely to be all too easily impressed by that playboy's offhand flirting. Although never in her full 23 years had Justicia Bee set foot in Hollywood, she was confident that she understood the ways and mores of Tinseltown far better than her older colleague. After all, she had a movie contract for her book now. Did not that confer insider status in no uncertain terms?

Had the worldly-wise Bee heard the conversation taking place on the front lawn, she would doubtless have worried even more to hear the word "_tesora_"—darling—drop repeatedly from the lips of the Italian man of the world. "_Tesora,_" Sergio lowered his voice, speaking to Roman. "That friend of yours, the other writer. She seems to remember me from the plane we rode over on, but I don't recall her at all. Was she one of the friends who sat with you?"

"No, she rode first class. But I think she saw you across the waiting area before boarding. Why?"

"Well, she seems to have the idea that I came here to see her. She apologized profusely that she couldn't spend the day with me. Where did she get the idea I'd want to do that?"

"Didn't you call her and ask her to get together and discuss your next film? It's her book that it's based on, you know."

Sergio snapped his fingers, laughing. "Ah, now I remember—Justicia Bee, yes. I called to ask if she had a copy of the book I could borrow. Unfortunately, when I left home I didn't realize I'd be taking on this project. She seemed to know I'd be coming to the wedding—from you, I guess—and suggested she could pass a copy on to me when I arrived. But more than that . . . no. You must believe me, _tesora_. It's you I wanted to see, you I wanted to spend the day with. Only you."

Roman turned pink with pleasure. "My calendar seems to be clear, Sergio. What did you have in mind for us to do?"

"Anything that will let us be alone together," his voice was more urgent now.

Roman felt her excitement rising. "Let's ask Livia. Maybe she'll have an idea where we can go."

In the meantime, Giacomo drew his brother into the living room for a last-minute tête-a-tête in Italian. "Listen, Zany," Giacomo sounded irritated. "We drilled all morning. You should have your strategy down cold now, but still you look like you're facing a root canal at any minute. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Zanipolo looked at his feet, then at his brother, recalling how their father had called them over early that morning to inform them of the day's activities.

_As soon as Sergio diRossi's sons heard that four American and British teenage girls had agreed to entertain them that afternoon, Zanipolo had declared that he wasn't going. Giacomo could have the girls all to himself. _

_In emphatic and voluble Italian, Sergio had erupted at his younger son, "You will not lie around the hotel listening to your ipod all day for the whole of our trip. You're going to accompany your brother and you're going to be friendly and civil to these young ladies. This new movie deal will keep me in America several months now, and I won't have you turning yourself into a hermit here. If you're worried about your English, Giacomo can translate for you."_

_Behind his father's back, Giac had pouted. He had been looking forward to this opportunity to conquer the hearts of a few fair Getty maidens and perhaps win himself a date for the upcoming wedding. The last thing he needed was a sullen and taciturn kid brother to shepherd. Zanipolo had observed the older boy's reaction, and it stung his heart. _

_The truth was that he was not sulking, he was terrified. Zany's dark and soulful beauty was as much of a magnet for girls as Giac's jaunty, dimpled good looks, but he was less aware than his brother of the effect he had on the fair sex. Giac was handsome, confident, quick-witted and irrepressible, if also selfish at times and irritable when ignored or thwarted in his amusements. And he spoke English like a native—for all intents and purposes he was a native. In contrast to his gregarious brother, Zany was introverted, thoughtful and shy. And now his fears were compounded by the misery of having evoked the resentment of his older brother, his hero, through no fault of his own. _

Zanipolo eyed his brother reproachfully. "You _know_ what's wrong with me, Giac. Girls are hard to talk to and worse for me here because I don't speak the same language. I'll look like a little baby just learning its way, everything out of my mouth coming out wrong. You don't understand what it's like to be me."

"Oh, come on. You've studied English with your tutor Gaspare for two years now."

"Right! Studied with somebody who can't speak English himself. I can read it with a dictionary, but girls talk really fast and I'm lost." The boy's eyes were darting wildly around the room now as he imagined the social disgrace that inevitably awaited him before the afternoon was out. To calm him, his brother put an arm around his shoulder and pressed him to sit on the sofa. Zany looked so woebegone that Giac felt a stab of pity for him, but he was damned if he was going to coddle the baby of the family all day.

Although Giac held his younger sibling in considerable affection, he also harbored a fair share of jealousy towards him. Zany would always be the child their father had chosen to keep with him when their parents divorced, whereas their American mother had decamped with her eldest back to New York and soon deposited him in boarding school. Giac had been only eight at the time, and nothing would ever totally repay him for that slight of Sergio's. In point of fact, the parents had simply made a joint decision that Giac would be the one to live in the states, because he already had a fair command of English, having resided there with both parents between his birth and the age of three. Furthermore, if Sergio _had_ kept him, he would then have resented that his brother was the one who got their mother. The only thing that would really have satisfied him would have been for his parents to wage an ongoing battle over him, vying for this pet, this prize. The very civility of their arrangement was to him a slap in the face, and somehow Zany was his scapegoat. Giac was that kind of boy.

Zany for his part idolized his older sibling—in his eyes a dashing hero who commanded every situation that confronted him. He would have done anything to win his admiration. He just didn't know how, not when he had to rely on that clearly exasperated young man as a social crutch. And now Giacomo was chastising him yet again. "Damn, Zany, why did I spend over an hour coaching you this morning? Did you learn nothing? What are you going to say when you meet these girls?"

"Hello, my name is Zanipolo?" And then quickly he launched into the first "dialog" he had ever learned from his first-year English text. "Hello, my name is Zanipolo. I am pleased to meet you. Will you go with me to the library? I must return a book. Perhaps you and I will become friends." He shook his head in disgust. "Frak, this is useless," he swore bitterly, "Nobody talks like that."

"Of course not, just stop after your name. And then watch me. I told you I'd try to nod when they ask something where you should say yes and shake my head for no."

"I think you will forget, once pretty girls are there. And not everything can be answered yes or no anyway."

"So what did I tell you to do then?"

Zany struggled to review the English phrases Giac had had him memorize earlier. "Um, if they look happy, I say 'That's nice.' If they look sad I say 'That's too bad.' If they look serious, I say, 'I can understand that.' Which, by the way, will be a complete lie."

"And if they flirt with you?"

Zany blushed furiously. "They won't. Or if they do, I won't know it."

Giac couldn't suppress a laugh. That was Zany to a tee. "Oh, believe me, you'll know it. Because if all else fails I'll kick you when that happens. So what do you say when they flirt?"

"I know, I say, 'You're pretty.'" Zany muttered his lesson reluctantly.

"And try—just _try_—to smile when you say it. And then—oh, you'll like this—add something in Italian."

"Like what?"

"Doesn't matter. They won't understand it anyway, but they'll think it sounds romantic."

Outdoors somewhere, a car door slammed, and a raft of high-pitched giggles bubbled in through the window. Giac slapped his brother on the back. "Okay, man, brace yourself. I think they're here."

* * * * * * * * *

As much as Katrina was enjoying the company of her fellow Getties, she also was feeling herself over-stimulated by the perpetual drama that seemed to emerge from their interactions. Having learned from Livia that the duplex was only three blocks away from the commercial district, she decided to take a walk on her own to enjoy the seasonable late winter weather of California and perhaps do a bit of window-shopping.

Strolling down the street on which the Rossi uncles' duplex stood, she noticed a tall fellow sauntering along ahead of her on lanky legs. He soon crossed the street to a nondescript cream-colored sedan parked up the street a way, and slid behind the wheel. As he turned, Katrina realized with a start that the man was Bassanio diRossi, whose features were indelibly etched in her memory, having haunted her thoughts since their unforgettable meeting on the plane from England.

Flustered by the emotions the sight of him evoked in her, and also wanting to spare him the grief that her own appearance seemed to cause him, she did an abrupt about-face and began walking in the direction from which she had come. A moment later she heard a motor turn over somewhere behind her, then saw his car roll past her. She turned back the way she had been heading when she saw him, and a couple of minutes later turned right and headed toward the center of town.

After a quarter hour or so spent peering into shop windows, she found herself outside Livino's Deli, and saw Fedelena's Pizza just across the way. Next door to the pizza shop stood a rather drab coffee shop. Feeling ready for a spot of refreshment, Katrina headed there. Upon entering, she was greeted by the young woman behind the counter, who brightened at the sight of her. The establishment was empty of patrons, and doubtless the girl was bored.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Katrina grabbed a booth, requested a cup of tea and asked what kind of sweet snacks were available to eat.

"How about a slice of pecan pie, fresh from the Rossi Bakery this morning?"

"Perfect. I know Fabiano Rossi, and I've been wanting to taste his . . . "

The tinkling of the bell over the entrance of the shop now interrupted her, announcing the arrival of another customer. Swiveling, Katrina felt her heart flutter in her chest. There, framed in the doorway, stood Bassanio, his pale face still as serious as she remembered it from their previous meeting, but considerably more composed. His eyes were fixed on her face and he addressed her at once in his delightful old-world accent.

"So we meet again, Katrina. It's such a pleasure to behold your lovely face."

Katrina gulped. "It is?" she asked skeptically. Immediately, she pulled herself together, and assumed a more friendly manner. "I mean, Bassanio, it's good to see you again, too. And unexpected in this setting, to say the least."

The young Italian strode purposefully to her booth and loomed over her. "May I join you? I've been hoping we'd have another chance to talk. I was unspeakably boorish the day we rode in the airplane together."

"Not at all. Well, that is, you did frighten me a little at first, but . . ."

"I'd like to explain that if you'd let me. I'd hate for you to think badly of me. Or, that is, you may still think badly of me after I've explained, but at least hopefully you'll no longer think I'm insane."

"Not insane? Than, by all means, join me."

* * * * * * * * *

Through the picture window behind the rattan sofa on which she was now sprawled, Christy dreamily watched her lover Ontrelle swimming with their houseguest, who was matching his movements stroke for stroke, gliding through the dark blue water. Beyond them stretched the Pacific, its waves rolling gently and rhythmically away toward the distant edge of the world, for the moment unpunctuated by any water vessel or other evidence of human presence.

Christy felt no concern or jealousy at seeing her boyfriend frolicking with another woman. For once in her life, she had fallen in love with a man whom she trusted completely. So strange, for he was not her usual type at all. He eschewed nightlife, cared nothing for a career as long as he had the means to provide for his simple needs and did not shower her with compliments and gifts. He just loved her and had the self-confidence to think that was enough. And it was. She had begun to rethink what it was that she wanted from a man.

As she lounged, surrounded by stacks of her law books, her reverie was interrupted by her cell phone, which burst forth with an insistent rendition of "Let's Get It On." Livia was on the line.

"Yeah, Livia, we're really enjoying Paula's visit here at the beach house. It's so great to have somebody to reminisce about Oz with. And it's nice for Ontrelle, too, because he has somebody to play in the water with, now I'm all tied up with work on this really sticky case. Paula's a great swimmer, too, especially with the lessons she's had lately. Of course, nobody can keep up with Ontrelle, but she comes close. What? . . . Oh, the nudity? No, he's being a good boy and wearing his trunks for now, not to shock our guest. It's a bonus for me because, accustomed though I am to seeing him in the altogether after all this time, I still have a hard time keeping my mind on my work when he's always here dangling his glory before me. So, anyway, what did you call about?"

As her hostess chatted indoors, Paula ran up on the beach and grabbed a towel. Ontrelle was close behind her, so she threw him the towel lying next to hers on the sand. Paula had to admit that she was rather relieved that he had elected to cover up for her during the visit. Before arriving, she had feared that being continually confronted with the "private" Ontrelle might make for an uncomfortable stay here, as she struggled constantly to avert her eyes. However, she did feel a twinge of regret not to be able to catch even a small glimpse during her visit of the storied magnificence of her host's "English parts," so vividly described by his kinfolk, who all seemed to have had the pleasure of a peek at one time or another. Oh, well, curiosity killed the cat, so they said. But, mused Paula, I bet it died one happy cat.

Now Christy was shuffling through the sand to where they stood. "How would you guys feel about driving back up to town for a night or two?"

"If you want to put us up at your apartment, that's fine with me, babe," responded Ontrelle. "Do you have to be closer to the office or something?"

"Partly," she replied. "And also, Livia just called. Roman's new boyfriend is here and they need a place to be alone together. I gather the duplex right now is Grand Central Station, at least until Mel's wedding, so I said I was sure you wouldn't mind lending them the beach house for a day or two. I was right, wasn't I?"

"Sure," he grinned back at her. "You know I'm all for young love, at whatever age it may pop up. You don't mind, Paula, do you?"

As the threesome packed the car, Paula felt wistful watching Ontrelle and Christy together. Not that she coveted the man—he was clearly all Christy's and that seemed right. But seeing him catch the young lawyer up in his arms and pepper her mouth with little kisses, Paula wished she had a love in her own life. So many of the Getties had found the man of their dreams either inside or out of the Rossi clan, and they seemed so content. Would it ever happen for her? Paula saw Ontrelle slam shut the tailgate of his car, then lean down and rest his forehead lightly on Christy's. Discreetly she climbed into the rear seat. A moment later her hosts hopped into the car and they set out for town, the ocean at their backs, and Paula's own home invisibly far, back beyond the horizon, its siren song silenced by the distance.

* * * * * * * * *

As soon as Giacomo and Zanipolo caught sight of the Getty teenagers, the younger brother knew he was in trouble. He hated to admit it about himself, but if the girls had been unattractive, he would not have worried as much about the impression he would make that afternoon. He had almost hoped they would be ugly, so he could relax a bit. But these girls were cute and vivacious, so he was a goner.

The group now found themselves seated at tables pulled together at Fedelena's Pizza, Giac between Kimi and Jenni, and—across from them--Zany between Amber and Maria. Giac was having the time of his life, absorbing the attention of the quartet of lovelies, while his brother sat stiff and mute as a statue.

"So," exclaimed Kimi, "What do you think of the Rossi men? Were you surprised at how much they look like you?"

Giac laughed. "Well, I've only seen the one guy so far—named Tino—but he did seem to have those diRossi dimples and maybe a touch of our devilish charm. Short guy, though, sort of a pocket DiRossi, wouldn't you say, bro?" Under the table, his foot nudged that of his brother, who glanced up to see Giac nodding at him discreetly.

"Uh, yes," spoke up the silent young man, baring his teeth to take a stab at a friendly grin. He had no idea what sentiment he had just endorsed.

"Oh, come now, that's not nice," Kimi slapped the older of the diRossis on the right arm, but didn't seem really offended.

"No," echoed Jenni to his left, slapping his other arm. "Is that what passes for manners at those Eastern American colleges? Making fun of your hosts?"

"He's not _my_ host," responded Giac. "And don't you be lecturing me on manners, little Miss Brit." He pressed a flirtatious finger into her ribs. "I've been to the football games over in your country enough to know there's nothing your countrymen can learn from us Americans about bad manners."

"Us Americans?" asked Amber. "I thought you were Italian."

"Our father is. Our mother was American. Zany and I are dual citizens. I've lived most of my life in this country."

The young woman sitting to the younger brother's left tapped the boy on his arm now. "Zany? Is that your nickname?"

Hearing "name"—a word he recognized—Zany launched into one of the set phrases Giac had dictated for his use, stammering "My name is Zanipolo."

The girl's friendly smile was replaced by a slight frown. "Oh, okay, I stand corrected."

The boy didn't know what to make of the frown and looked nervously at Giac, who was nodding now at a further comment from Kimi. Seeing the nod, Zany turned back to the girl and said, emphatically, "Yes."

The girl looked down at the slice of pizza on her plate, seeming embarrassed. "Sorry," she muttered. The expression on her face told her listener that he'd already screwed up. In a panic, uncertain what to say now, he went back to the beginning to try again. "My name is Zanipolo. I am pleased to meet you. . . ."

The girl looked puzzled but immediately smiled anew, little realizing that she had just rescued the boy from next offering her a trip to the library.

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you, too. I'm Maria."

Seeing her face light up, Zany gaped at her and nodded. He had no idea what she had just said, and might not have, even if she'd spoken in his native tongue. All of a sudden he was bowled over by the brilliance of that smile. The thick, rich dark hair framing those twinkling eyes, that merry, mischievous expression, those pretty lips—at the thought of those lips, he blushed suddenly. Why had he not noticed the moment he met her? He was gazing at the most beautiful girl in existence. The afternoon had suddenly grown a million times scarier, for all at once it was the most important thing in the world that this girl like him.


	16. Andean Interlude

Chapter 16

~ Andean Interlude ~

High in the Peruvian Andes, Gio was trying to figure out where to stage his latest video to send to Betty. It was a hot day, and he had removed his shirt out of habit, without thinking anything about it. Well, no, if he were honest with himself, he _had_ thought about it. He had been keeping active and working out whenever possible in his journeys, and part of his motivation had been so that he could constantly show his buff self off to his first love on videotape.

He was not proud of that side of him, the side that still bore a grudge after all these years, that still wanted to say, Look at what you threw away, babe, and suck it up. The thing of it was, he could only fantasize how different his life might have been if she could just have given him her heart from the beginning. He would never have wound up in California Land, never have fallen in love with Rachael and married her, never have fathered children whom he would probably never see again.

At the thought of his little son and daughter, though, Gio's eyes softened, and his resentment toward Betty retreated a little. As hard as it was to be separated from them, he was not—could not—be sorry that his babies existed out there somewhere, even if they were lost to him forever. The little time he had enjoyed with them had been such a blessing. His sweet, powder-scented, roly-poly cherubs.

The memory led him to thoughts of Betty and her little Imelda. He knew the woman wanted him back now. She had made that clear upon his return to Ugly Betty Land. However, he suspected the real source of her interest was her wish to find a father for her little girl. So, okay, it was still not true love forever, but for that he did not blame her. The few times he had observed mother and daughter together back before he left New York, he had seen that she was a tender and caring parent, the kind he would have wished for his own children—in fact, the kind that Rachael had turned out to be.

But Rachael had commandeered another father for her kids, and didn't need him any more. On the other hand, perhaps Betty did. Every now and again on his journeys, and with increasing regularity as the months flew by, he thought about that possibility more and more. This restless life was not for him. Not really. He had pursued it partly to get away from all the bitterness and heartache that New York held for him, and partly to stick it to PRIVATE right in the pocketbook. He might be indentured to the man for the run of his filthy TV show, but by God he would at least see that the villain paid.

Nowadays, though, he wondered—was he sacrificing his nose to spite his face, as the proverb suggested? Might he still find contentment with the woman he had once loved beyond reason? Could he possibly recapture those old feelings, and if so, could she finally return them? Sometimes, he pictured himself, Betty and Imelda on a picnic in the park, with him pushing the tiny girl on a swing, or pouring a cup of lemonade from a thermos for Betty and handing it over with a gentle peck on her cheek. It gave him a warm, homey feeling. He could take up the reins of the deli again and might yet make a happy life for himself. Why not? He was still a young man with many years ahead of him.

Wearily the traveler set aside his backpack, now stuffed full of a number of annoyingly bulky, oddly shaped objects—toys for his boy and girl that he'd been amassing for quite a spell. He paused briefly to wonder anxiously when his messenger to the other universe—his one remaining tie to the family he'd left behind—would show up again to unburden him. It had been an unusually long wait this time. Oh well, no doubt that person would appear eventually when in need of cash again, he mused. Be patient, Rossi. And with that he dismissed any further thought of that other world for the present.

All right, thought Gio, I'll move the camera around in a circle to capture the ring of tall mountains surrounding me. Then I'll place it over here to capture my image silhouetted against the great blue expanse of sky. It's summer and very hot here in the Southern Hemisphere, so I'm sweating quite a bit, which hopefully she'll find arousing. No! Quench those thoughts. This isn't about hurting Betty, not any more. Grow up!

A moment later his ears perked up. He was about to have company, maybe somebody he could enlist to operate the camera for him. That always made the job easier. A head appeared over the rim of the ledge he was situated on, followed in short order by broad shoulders, a skinny, skinny waist and long, gangling legs. Squinting into the sun, Gio wondered whether he was imagining things. But no. Suddenly that arm shot up awkwardly at a right angle, forming itself into an imitation of a cactus. Then it waved. What the frak, that could only be one person in this godforsaken universe, namely, his old rival . . .

"Hail, wayfarer. Henry Grubstick's the name. Do you speak English? ¿Hablas inglés?"

"Henry, it's me—Gio Rossi. Odd to run into you in a place like this. Sort of like finding an exotic variety of pickle in your egg salad sandwich. What are you doing here?"

"Gio, hi! I'm hiking. I like to hike. I hike all the time, it's very educational. How about you?" Gio noted that the man was wearing what looked to be freshly ironed blue jeans and a lightweight white cotton shirt—a button-down shirt—while mountain-climbing, So _very_ Henry. No doubt if he hitched up his pant-legs, they would reveal cotton argyle socks tucked into his spit-and-polish hiking boots. Gio flung himself down on the nearest boulder and patted a seat, inviting Henry to join him.

"I'm just seeing the world on PRIVATE's dime." Gio sighed wearily. "I think I've seen enough of it, though."

Henry scowled. "PRIVATE did that for you? He never gave me a thin penny after I left. Just patted my back and told me to stay in touch, that I was still 'part of the family,' that he might need to call on me sometime."

"And did he?"

"Sure, once. Just when I was getting over Betty, he brought me back and set me up to kiss her. Churned up all those old feelings again, and then I found it was just to get this other jerk named Matt jealous, all for a plot point. That's PRIVATE through and through."

"But she's not with this Matt now."

"Nah, it turned out he was cheating on her on the side. He was eventually identified as Patient 0 for a syphilis epidemic that took New York by storm in the summer of 2009. The mayor had him quarantined for life, with PRIVATE's blessing. Putting his star at risk that way!" Then Henry chuckled.

Gio frowned. "Well, I'm glad to hear he's where he can do no more harm, but it hardly seems a laughing matter."

"Oh, I was chuckling about how jealous I once was of you. It turned out you were no threat at all. Thinking you would whisk her off to Rome and romance her. I hated you a bit then. Sorry about that."

"Thanks for reminding me," spat Gio bitterly.

"Oh, I apologize, I didn't realize that would still rankle you, old man," Henry clapped Gio on the shoulder. "Hey, we were both the losers, but we moved on, didn't we?"

"Yeah, I moved on. At least I thought so. I married a beautiful girl, had two beautiful children—twins, in fact, just like I am. I was on top of the world. Betty actually showed up and tried to disrupt the wedding, but my wife's aunt smacked her, and then she ended up making out with an underage boy. It gave me a whole new perspective on her. "

"I can see how it might!" Henry seemed shocked now. "Where did all this happen?"

Gio was silent for a moment. "Let's just say in California and leave it at that."

The tall accountant seemed bewildered, but simply nodded. "All right. So, is your wife on this trip?"

"Ha!" laughed Gio humorlessly. "Nope! It seems I can't hold onto a woman for beans. She left me."

"Just up and left you for no reason?"

"Oh, she had a world of reasons. I had an affair. I cheated."

"And that's why she left?"

"Well, that's why she said she left, but she would have left even if I'd been faithful as a hound dog."

Henry scowled again, "I don't think hound dogs are known for being faithful. Remember the old Elvis Presley song "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound—"

"She would have left because she was cheating on me, too. Her old high school boyfriend. Oh, I knew she was thinking of him even long before she acted on it. One night, we were asleep, and I felt her roll over and clutch at me. I thought she wanted to make love, but then she moaned his name without waking up. Edward. It made my blood run cold."

"So she had a dream about somebody else. That could happen to anyone. You can't hold somebody's dreams against them. Betty used to say Antonio Sabato Jr's name a lot in her sleep and one time she called out Kenny's name."

"That other accountant you worked with? And that didn't bother you?"

"Nah, I don't know about Antonio Sabato Jr, but I do know that Kenny would never have given her the time of day. Not his type at all."

Gio snorted. "Lucky you. I had no such reassurance from Rachael. Oh, I brought it up with her, but she just shrugged it off. Said it meant nothing, that she didn't even remember the dream. But it started happening again and again. I didn't throw it up in her face or anything, though. I tried to be understanding. But finally it happened when we were awake and making love. She called me Edward right at the high point of her passion, if you get my drift. I don't think she even realized she shouted it out loud. But after that I couldn't make love to her any more. I just couldn't. And eventually I got proof that there was more to it than just feelings. That she was seeing him on the side."

"I guess that would hurt. Sort of like when Betty started calling out _your_ na—Oops!"

Gio's eyes widened. "She _what?"_

"Nothing, nothing. So, anyway, what did you do then?"

"Well, there was this other woman, a friend of Rachael's. I could tell she was attracted to me. Back when Rach and I were happy, I didn't think much of it, but when our troubles began, I started contemplating this other girl more and more. Couldn't get her out of my mind. Perhaps in a way because she sort of reminded me of Betty, with the sweetness and goodness Betty had when I first met her."

"That's hard to imagine—another Betty?"

"Well not really, but sort of the same type. Petite, dark, cute and upbeat, only without the glasses, the braces, the horrible clothes, the haystack hair, the stunning naiveté, and the annoying boyfriend. Oh, um, sorry, that was you."

"'S'all right, man. Go on."

"She was a better cook, too, she made these amazing cookies. Sort of like an aphrodisiac they were. So, anyway, the day I found out for sure that Rachael was cheating, you cannot imagine the pain. The mother of my children! The woman I had given everything to! Well, I started reflecting on this other woman Nena, and—I know it was wrong—but I went to her. I had struck out twice now in my life, and I was determined to find a woman I could _make_ love me."

"And did she?"

"I think so. Or, at least, I thought so back then. Besides, as I said, she made me these really phenomenal cookies. After that, we snuck around and saw each other for months. I was your proverbial cheating husband, always telling my girlfriend that Rachael and I were about to split up. Of course, that was a lie."

Henry stared at his old rival long and hard. "Gio, what you're telling me surprises me. As much as I disliked you back then, you always seemed like a straight shooter. I knew you were in love with Betty. Oh, don't look surprised, everyone did. But I have to admit you didn't push it. I was always afraid you would, but you never did, not until I was gone. You even urged me to spend more time with her while I could."

"Not for your sake, I assure you. I just knew that's what she wanted, and back then I always wanted my Betty to have whatever she wanted. And, to be honest, I thought if I bided my time she'd be mine eventually."

Henry dug the toe of his hiking boot into the dirt impatiently. "You haven't told me the end of your story. This Nena, is she your girlfriend now?"

"No. This is me, remember. Three strikes and you're out, message straight from God."

"So she left you when she found out that you'd been lying? Why did you lie, by the way?"

"I didn't mean to. I really intended to leave Rachael. You see, I felt like I was really falling in love with Nena, and I woke up every day trying to figure out how to confront my wife and get it over with. But it always came down to the kids. I didn't want to lose them, and I worried that this Edward would figure out a way to move in on them and shut me out the minute I gave him an opening. He was a big-time lawyer, you see, a real shark. And, boy, was I ever right." Tears had started to sting his eyes now, and he turned his head away so that Henry couldn't see them. But whatever his shortcomings, Grubstick was no fool, nor was he a heartless man. Furthermore, he was a father himself. Quietly, he slipped his arm around his companion's shoulder and gave it a brotherly squeeze.

The bereft dad suddenly let out one world-shaking sob, then pulled himself together. "Sorry," he choked out. Then, "You know, you're an all right guy, Eggy."

"Eggy?" Henry's eyebrows shot up inquiringly.

"Erm, that's Italian. Italian _for friend_, you know."

"Oh, thanks," the gangly fellow brightened and Gio felt a twinge of guilt. Immediately, though, Henry was urging him on, "So this girl left you when she learned you lied, did she?"

"Nena? Actually, no. She stood by me, even then. Even though I was still torn between her and my need to have my kids in my life. I didn't know if I could have both and I didn't see how I could choose. And she realized that and still seemed to love me." He laughed wryly. "Just as Betty would have done for any man _she_ loved. In fact, just as she did with you."

"Yet you're alone today. So why _did_ she leave? Or did you leave her?"

"No, she left me, finally. And she never really explained. She said I knew what I had done, but I swear to God, Henry, this time I didn't. Anyway, no matter, they're all far, far away now, somewhere I can never go back to."

"California? Look, I know it's kind of La-La Land out there, but it's not _that_ unreachable."

Gio shook his head. "Eggy, it is for me. You don't understand, and it's too complicated to explain." Henry shook his head, and might have asked more questions, but for an interruption.

"HENRY! HENRY!" A very insistent, high-pitched voice was suddenly yelling loudly from out of sight, just beyond the edge of the ledge they were resting on. A look of impatience crept over the taller man's face. A moment later a young woman's head appeared, a perky carrot-top perched on a skinny neck, pink sleeveless top and latex shorts. Latex shorts—in the Andes!

"There you are! You got away from me again!" she declared brightly, wagging her finger playfully at Henry. "He always does this," she added as an aside to Gio. "It's those long legs of his. He can't help striding along very fast, and I just can't keep up. Then suddenly he realizes I'm gone, and has to wait up for me. He hates finding out that I'm not right behind him, don't you, Poochy?"

Henry stared at his feet, clearly embarrassed. Gio wrinkled his nose. "Poochy?"

"Whoops, I let you in on my pet name for him. He's my poochy-woochy. I'm his girlfriend Cookie, by the way. Anyhoo, I'm glad to see he made a friend while he was waiting. I like to encourage him to network whenever and wherever he gets a chance. Do you do anything important or have any useful connections, by the way?"

Gio sent a sympathetic look in Henry's direction, but laughed in spite of himself. "Not really. And Henry's not networking. He already knows me. From his New York days."

"Oooo," squealed the lady in latex. "New York. He said he's going to take me there soon. He was quite the social lion when he lived there, you know. Especially famous for his dancing. He told me they used to say he had the moves of a jungle cat."

Henry shifted uncomfortably and Gio laughed again, even more merrily. "Do tell. Well, maybe we'll run into each other there. I cut a mean rug, too, if I do say so myself."

Henry swung round then and stared at his old acquaintance sharply. "So you're returning to New York?"

"Yeah, I think I am. I've pretty much got the wanderlust out of my system. PRIVATE arranged for this guy Robert to operate the deli for me while I've been out of town. An ex-con I once replaced, I just hope he hasn't run the place into the ground. I'm gonna take it back and I've got a second cousin Shorty on my Mama's side I think I'll get to come work for me."

If Henry wondered who could possibly be short enough that Gio would call him Shorty, he tactfully didn't mention it. Instead he asked, "But your kids? You're really not going to go back to the West Coast and try to claim them?"

"No." The deli-owner looked solemn now. "That part of my life is over. The women I once loved, I'm over them, too. My life has to be in New York from here on out, that's clear. Which reminds me. I've been making these videotapes all along the way during my travels. Could you help me out?"

"Sure he could," piped up Cookie. "He's a wonder at all things technological. I'm just going to get a head start up the mountain, so he can't get too far ahead of me again. You can catch up when you're through, Poochy."

Henry nodded at her, "Yeah, sure," and then turned his back, focusing on the video camera as she trotted away.

"Nice girl," complimented Gio generously.

"I guess," muttered Henry.

"Sort of reminds me of the mother of your son. What was her name?"

"Charlie. My Nate's mother is Charlie." He raised his head and looked at Gio. "I don't know why I'm with this woman, to tell the truth. What's wrong with me? She's not my type at all. She's the fifth girlfriend I've had since Betty and I broke up, and they're all like Charlie. The truth is, I've never given up on getting back with Betty, I guess."

All of a sudden, Gio felt an unexpected stab in the heart. No! Not this time! In that moment, he made up his mind. He didn't hate the man like he once had, but Henry Grubstick was _not_ going to win again! "Look, Henry," he spoke up sharply. "Have you ever thought that if you've had five girlfriends like Cookie in a row, that probably means she _is_ your type? You just haven't admitted it to yourself. You and Betty were never right for each other. Once you face the fact, maybe you'll realize that you have a great girl there who really loves you. Give it a chance, why don't you?"

His once and hopefully not future rival looked taken aback, but ruminated a moment and then nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe you're right, Gio. I'll think about it. Here, show me what to do with the camera."

Gio indicated how he wanted to be shot, with Henry crouching, aiming the camera up at him as he stood framed by the infinite blue above him. Then he cleared his throat and confessed. "Henry, I should have told you before, but this is a video for Betty. She indicated awhile ago that she wants me now. I've been chewing it over for ages, but today I think you've helped me come to a decision. Let her roll."

"I see," said Henry and started filming.

"Hey, Betty," announced Gio, "Guess who's helping me today! I ran into an old friend of yours with his new girlfriend. Turn the camera around and let her see your face a minute, fella," he instructed his photographer. Henry complied and smiled weakly. When he pointed it back at his subject, Gio continued, "Listen, Suarez, this is the last video I'll be sending you. I'm in the Andes now. Peru. Swing the camera around will you, Henry, and let her drink in the scenery." Henry rotated 360 degrees, slowly to take in all the vast expanse laid out around them. Finally, he arrived back at the shorter man, who spoke up again. "Betty, the reason this is the last tape is because I'm coming home. And I have something really important to ask you. Please wait for me."

When Gio was through speaking, Henry set the camera aside and addressed him resignedly. "Well, so it's true after all, what I used to fear. You're the one, you're her endgame. I suppose I always knew it."

Gio brushed the dust off himself and donned his shirt which was lying close by. "I hope so, Eggy. We'll see."

"I better go catch up with Cookie then. Gio, even though I hate to admit it, I guess the right man won. So, goodbye and good luck to you—Eggy," and with that he reached out and shook Gio's hand.


	17. Scenes from anAfternoon V Hitting It Off

Chapter 17

~ Scenes from an Afternoon V. Hitting It Off ~

"What are you doing, anyway? Hurry up and finish, I think I just heard Val at the door, letting Fen and Nena in." In their combination guest bedroom and study, Matteo threw himself down on the futon beside Eliseo and looked at the laptop screen to see what had so engaged his twin.

"If you must know, I'm shopping for baseball gear. I thought I'd order me a Red Sox baseball cap and T-shirt. Now don't make fun . . ."

"Red Sox? That's a joke! You the big Mets fan? What, are you ordering them to hang on the wall and toss darts at? Or to throw on the ground and trample in the dirt? Or maybe to write rude things on and wear about?" Matt gasped the words out. He was laughing so hard he had to roll around and hug himself to hold his sides in.

Eliseo shot his brother a grimace of annoyance. "Look, I was a Mets fan back in Ugly Betty Land, but in this new universe, it's a different team, different players. Who says I can't root for the Ugly Betty Land Mets and the Californialand Red Sox? Anyway, I don't live in New York any more."

"Yeah, and you don't live in Boston either. Right now we're in California, so why not the Dodgers or something? Ha-ha, don't answer that. I know why. It's Fen! She's all about the Boston sports teams. You just met her yesterday, and now you're changing your colors for a girl!" Matt shook his head in mock pity. "What kind of true baseball fan does that?"

By now, Eliseo was blushing furiously. "Shut up! And don't say anything in front of the Getties, okay? I spent a lot of time on the Internet last night brushing up on the Red Sox stats—their line-up from last season and history and so forth. I'll admit that it's a bit of a challenge, remembering not to hate them, but I'm a big enough man to take it on."

"Whoa, and all for a woman you haven't even dated yet! You're going to the wedding with her on Saturday and then what? Why don't you wait and see if she'll go out with you twice before you commit yourself to a whole new sports wardrobe? Man, I've never seen you go goofy over someone this fast before."

"Well, did you see her, Matt? She's so cute, going off like a little firecracker! I mean, I knew from her letters that I'd like her, but I had no idea . . . And why wouldn't she go out with me a second time? You know how irresistible I am to ladies. After all,' he added smugly, "That's why you're so jealous of me."

"Ri-i-ight," drawled his brother, still chuckling. "Okay, I'm going downstairs now. Join us when you can, lover boy.".

* * * * * * * * *

The doorbell buzzed insistently, and Val took leave of his guests to answer it. "Back in a minute! The guys'll be down shortly," he announced, and with that he was gone. Fen grabbed a dishtowel from the sink, slid over and slapped Nena with it. Then she chortled gleefully.

"Hey!" protested Nena. "What was that for?"

"Just getting your attention. Oh, Nena, I'm so happy," crowed the tiniest Getty Girl.

"Somehow I could tell that from the way you've been dancing around the kitchen. Can I take it that's because you have a date for the wedding?"

"_YES!_ And, Nena, Eliseo's wicked good-looking, don't you think? Did you see his huge biceps yesterday?"

"Yeah, sure," Nena's mouth was smiling. Her forehead, however, was creased in a little frown. These multi-Rossi gatherings were still hard for her. Why did they all have to look so much like . . ? No, stop, she interrupted herself. Today she wasn't going to go there.

Her best friend sensed something was amiss, however. "What's wrong? Don't you like your date? Matt seems like a nice guy."

"Oh, he is, definitely. I really liked the letters he sent me."

"And he's handsome, too," Fen pointed out, "In that general Rossi way, except—"

"I know what you're going to say. Except for that hair and those earrings. That's not to my personal taste, either. Kind of a throwback to the eighties, wouldn't you . . .?"

At that point, Nena saw her friend's eyes widen suddenly and stare past her, clearly caught off guard by something. Whipping her head around to follow Fen's gaze, she sighted Matteo Rossi standing in the open doorway. Her face reddened, but Matt just grinned broadly. "That's okay, sweetheart. Listen, I'll make a deal with you—I'll ditch the earrings for the wedding, okay?"

Too ashamed to speak, Nena gulped and nodded. However, Fen dove in unfazed: "What about the hair, though? I have some shears . . ."

"What's this about hair?" Eliseo now appeared in the doorway behind his twin.

His brother piped up, "Oh, these Delilahs here want me bald, it seems."

Nena was relieved that Matt simply seemed amused. He might not have the look she preferred in a man, but his temperament suited her pretty damned well.

Eliseo pointed an admonishing finger at the two Getties. "Back off!" he scolded. "You two better keep your scissors away from my bro's moptop. It _is_ the source of his strength, you know. Without it, he's just a poor, puny little pipsqueak . . ."

"Hey-ey-ey!" complained Matt, punching his twin in the arm. "Keep your opinions to yourself. If beautiful women want to have their way with my hair, I just might let them. That is," he turned to the ladies, "In the _future,_ I mean. Before I change my coiffure for any woman, I expect a way bigger commitment than just a date for a wedding."

Grabbing the coffee carafe, Fen sashayed up to Eliseo. "Forget hair! Why don't you guys have a seat? Val just made a fresh pot of coffee. What are your plans for the day?"

"Nothing much," Eliseo answered, grabbing a chair by the neatly set table. Fen claimed the seat next to him. "Just kicking back with you two," continued Eliseo. "Plus Val says the pilot who saved the plane yesterday is coming here for dinner. I'm really looking forward to shaking that man's hand. Other than that, I'm going to get out the yellow pages and see if there are any hang-gliding outfits around here. I'd like to rent some equipment soon and find out if there's any place nearby to use it."

"_WHAT???_" A wail escaped from his brother. "After that drop out of the sky yesterday, you want to re-create the experience? You're nuts!"

"And you're a pussy, Matt. Mi-aouw! Haven't you heard about how it's important to get right back in the saddle again? Oh, of course, I forgot. You've never _been_ in the saddle." To the women, he elaborated, "Hang gliding is a passion of mine, but Matt's a big baby. I've never been able to get him to join me, even though it would cure his fear of heights instantly. I keep telling him that, but no!" He turned to face Fen squarely. "That boy is such a girl."

At Eliseo's derisive comment, Nena and Fen looked at each other, then Nena exploded into chuckles. "Yeah, Fen. After all, we _girls_ are such sissies. Too bad how your fear of heights prevents you from jumping out of planes more than once a month!"

Eliseo's eyebrows flew up. "Come again? What's that you said about planes?"

Fen raised her chin in scorn. "Listen, macho man, I don't bother with jumping off some itty-bitty little mountain, I get into a plane and leap from 13 thousand feet up or so. Normally I do a couple skydives once a month on a Saturday. But because of the wedding, I'm going a day early this week. On Friday. You should come try it some time and see what real altitude is like—if you're not too cowardly to get _really_ high up, that is," she sneered.

"_You_ jump out of planes, little one? Well, knock me over with a feather. Actually, I started out with sky-diving before I moved on to hang gliding, so I do know the appeal. But you seem to have some misconceptions. Sure, we gliders jump off of cliffs at a couple thousand feet or so, but your dives are typically over and done with in—what?—10 minutes?"

"That sounds about right," admitted Fen.

"On the other hand, we gliders can soar for hours, and can ride updrafts to reach heights as high as you do on your jumps. Tell you what, will you take me with you on Friday? Then later on sometime, I'll get you started with gliding lessons so you can compare. What do you say?"

As he spoke, Matt locked eyes with the small woman opposite him. Fen's own eyes began to dance, catching fire from her challenger's intensity. Her heart was racing. Without even realizing she had done so, she clasped Eliseo's hand in her own. "Come on, let's make a phone call. I'll make the arrangements. You can join me this time, my treat."

A moment later they had vanished, and Matt and Nena sat alone together in awkward silence. After a minute or so, Nena spoke up, "Listen, what I said about your hair . . ."

Laugh crinkles formed around Matt's eyes. "Nena, it's all right. Maybe you and I just have different styles, different tastes. It's not a crime. Although. come to think of it, _you_ have long, dark hair, just like me. And, hey, I do believe you're also wearing earrings. So now the truth comes out—you're just envious of my beauty, you diva!"

The young Latina relaxed. Much relieved, she blessed her companion with a sparkling smile. "Thanks, Matt. Thanks for making this easy." She paused, poured coffee into each of their mugs, and went on, "You can't guess how much I've been looking forward to your arrival."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Your letters—those nice long letters, the way you write. Reading them, I felt I really got to know you."

"Hah! Well, it is my nature to blather on and on. And pace of life in the outback leaves a man with a lot of time to churn out his inner babblings. Not a lot of distractions there. Other than the letters I got back from you, of course. Those were interesting. They gave me a sense that we could be good friends."

"Me, too. And I'm glad you said that, because, well, do you mind if I confide in you a little? There are reasons why I'm not totally looking forward to this gathering. And, to tell the truth, I'm kind of hoping you'll help me to keep my mind off those reasons."

"I'll be happy to help if I can. Do you want to share with me what's bothering you?"

"Nah, not now." Nena shook her head and took a sip of her coffee. "But, maybe later. We'lll see. Right now I just wanted you to know, Matt, I'm glad you're here."

* * * * * * * * *

The tall, fair Englishman with the high forehead heard the determined rapping on the door and glanced at his watch, annoyed. The time was right. Clearly this was the associate he had been expecting, but why wasn't the chap using the agreed-upon secret knock? Peering through the peephole that gave him a view of the corridor outside his hotel room, the man cursed under his breath. What was that woman doing there? A lovely sight to be sure, but he was certain he had made it clear that "see you later" meant _later_.

The man decided to make no sound, trusting that the woman would conclude he was not in and go away. He waited a couple minutes, then looked again. Whew, good, she was gone. But no, there she was again, striding past his door down the hallway. He'd give her a moment and then sneak a peek out the doorway to make sure the coast was clear. This time he kept his eye to the peephole. She soon strode past again, going in the other direction. Damn! She wasn't leaving at all. She was pacing.

The Brit turned his back to the door and leaned against it, wondering how to handle the situation. His associate would not show up now. He would see that the woman was lurking and stay out of sight. The room's occupant cursed under his breath, frustrated. He would have preferred to finish up his business, so that he could give his wholehearted attention to his recreational pursuits. Ah, well, there seemed to be no help for it. He might as well start recreating right away. Work could be resumed later.

But how would he explain leaving her waiting outside? Slipping into the bathroom, the tall man squeezed a glop of toothpaste into his mouth and swished it around with his toothbrush. Then he pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

In the softly lit corridor of the local hotel, Bee became aware of a pleasurable vibration in the depths of her silk slacks. Oooo, she mused, there's something about silk vibrating against the skin of my thigh that feels sinfully luxurious. Of course, at the moment she was primed to be thinking about sin anyway. She slipped her silent but lively cell phone from her pocket and flipped it open. "Archie, is that you?"

"Yes, love. I thought I might pop over to where you're staying and pick you up. Do you want to give me some directions?"

"Well, actually, I'm at your hotel now. In fact I'm right outside the door of your room. Where are you?"

"I'm in the room."

"No you're not. You couldn't be. I knocked very loudly."

"Um, well, I've been brushing my teeth. In the bathroom, you know. Must not have heard you."

"Then let me in."

Still holding his cell, the man strode toward the door and flung it open. There stood Bee, her own cell in hand, a fetching vision in her red silk pants, a red and lavender tunic and spiky purple shoes. Two phones clapped shut as though one. "Well, don't you look lovely?" he purred at her graciously, giving no outward indication that his mind was racing a mile a minute, thinking of how to warn off the confederate who doubtless lingered still close at hand.

Bee grabbed the DO NOT DISTURB sign from the inside doorknob of the room and moved it to the outside knob. "It's my turn to disturb you for awhile now," she announced. Ah, yes! The man breathed easier—such a simple solution to his dilemma, and she had come up with it on her own. Glancing both ways down the hall, he saw nobody, which was what he expected, given his ally's level of professionalism. Laying a hand on her arm, he tugged his visitor into the room and into a hug, kicking the door shut behind him.

After a moment, he drew back reluctantly from the cuddly bundle of silk in his arms. "Listen, my dear lady, I haven't eaten for hours. I was just getting ready to order a late lunch from room service. Will you join me?"

"Well, I've eaten, but you go ahead anyway. Just order me up a nice cold glass of iced tea, will you?"

As Bee watched Archie speaking into the phone on the bedside stand, her mind went to work. Just as she suspected, something was not right here. For all his graciousness and feigned delight at her presence, the man had seemed tense and guarded when he met her at the door. Clearly, he had not been entirely happy to delay whatever he had planned just now. But then, why had he simply not told her his business wasn't done, and asked her to go amuse herself for a bit? And why the story about brushing his teeth? True, his breath did smell minty fresh. She'd taken a sniff as soon as the chance presented itself. But who brushes their teeth just _before_ ordering lunch?

Her eyes swept casually over the contents of the room. Nothing terribly suspicious there. No, wait, wasn't there some sort of bulge evident just underneath the sports jacket whose shoulders had been slipped over the chair by the writing desk? And what was that powdery white stuff in a plastic baggie sitting on the desk, next to a stack of small toothpaste-sized cartons? Bee's misgivings were multiplying by the minute.

Seating herself on the desk chair, the writer started to lean back casually, intending to press up against the jacket. Though she appeared simply to be seeking a moment of repose, in fact it was her design to determine whether the bulge secreted there was soft or, as she suspected, hard and bulky like a firearm. Swiftly her host tossed the phone into its cradle, crossed the space between them in two strides and pulled her to her feet. "Come sit by me," he flirted, drawing her down next to him

"What? On the bed?" She frowned, pretending to be insulted. In point of fact, had she at that moment not been preoccupied with her suspicions, she would have considered this a delightful development.

"I assure you, I have no designs on your virtue," the man smirked back at her. "At least not on an empty stomach. It's just more comfy here, better than that hard chair, wouldn't you say?" With that he slid over a little to the side, increasing the distance between them, as though to show that he meant no harm.

"Archie, that white stuff over there—in the plastic bag thing—is that sugar? Can I borrow some for my iced tea."

Archie looked startled and swung to gape at the article referred to, seeming as surprised as if a tiny meteor had just flown in the window from outer space and deposited itself unbidden among his belongings. "White stuff? Oh, oh. Um, yes. Sugar. I mean, no, you won't want that, it's Splenda. Unpleasant aftertaste, don't you know?"

"That's all right. Splenda will be fine. It won't take much to sweeten my tea."

As she rose to move toward her powdery objective, Archie pulled her back to the bed. "Listen," he seemed unduly urgent to distract her. "I'm sure they'll deliver a number of choices of sweetener in packets. So much more convenient, don't you think? No measuring. You can use those."

"But you can, too!'

"Yes." He wore a puzzled frown. "So?"

"So why travel with a huge stash of the stuff in a baggie when, as you say, the stuff is always around already, premeasured into packets?"

"That's—that's a good point, Bee. I think in the future I'll do as you suggest and just leave it home. I guess," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "coming to America I had the notion this would be like the wild wild West. No amenities like sweeteners, you know. Really, California seems surprisingly civilized these days."

Bee decided that she had gone as far as she could for the present with this line of inquiry, so she started again, off on a new tack. "Tell me, darling, how was your air trip? Too bad you had to fly down instead of taking a nice scenic drive. If you only just left your tampon mates up there in Oregon, why did you have to scoot on down here to talk to them some more about all the same stuff? They should have let you finish your business and have time off to play. That's really what conventions are for, after all."

"Well, it's true, the chaps and I had plenty of chance to talk feminine hygiene at the convention. But still we have to meet up with our customers out in the field, touch base with them, let them know of the latest developments. They use a lot of tampons here in California, you know."

"More than elsewhere?" Bee told herself that what Archie said made sense. So why did that nagging feeling of unease still itch at her?

"Right, right, I see what you're getting at. Women everywhere basically have the same bodily functions and use the same products, as you imply. But the latest innovations—we're always having to visit our retailers and let them know what's new with our products."

"Oh! That reminds me," Bee became more animated as she warmed to her subject. "You know how the tampon dispensers all taste peppermint now?"

Archie seemed quite taken aback to hear about that. "They _what?_"

"They taste peppermint, didn't I get that right? Or is it spearmint, or maybe wintergreen? I always get my mints mixed up. But anyway, _you_ know. I'm talking about the way they're flavored so that when you have to lick them, they'll taste good."

"Lick?" The man was looking at her as though she were demented.

"Yes, you know how you have to lick them before inserting--? Well, that is, _you_ don't have to insert them—you're a man. But we women . . .Archie, you may not use tampons, but you do sell them. Surely you know how they work."

Archie harrumphed and collected himself. "Well, of course, I know about the licking. I'm just surprised to hear you bring it up. It's a bit of a, well, an intimate topic, wouldn't you say? What point were you trying to make?"

"Just that women like chocolate much better than we like mint. Dearie, if your company became the first to market chocolate dispensers, sales would go through the roof! Really, you must propose that to your research and development team when you get the chance."

"I will indeed."

"Mark my words, they'll thank you." All the way to the funny farm, Bee added to herself grimly. Words she'd spoken to Livia earlier that day came flitting back into her head: "If this guy's a feminine hygiene sales executive, I'm a rattlesnake wrangler." Well, now she had her answer "Look on the bright side, Bee," she told herself. "He may be dangerous, but this guy's way more intriguing than the rattlesnakes would have been."

* * * * * * * * *

"Hey, there, young man!" Valentino, hooked his hand into Eliseo's elbow, waylaying him as he sped past, headed upstairs with Fen on their errand. "Here's somebody that you've been wanting to see."

Annoyed at being interrupted, Eliseo forced a polite smile and stood back as Val swung the front door open more widely. For a moment he thought it was Calvino standing there. The visitor was about the right age and had quite similar features. But the face looked back at him blankly—no, not Cal, he decided. Could it be Cris? Nah, there was the mustache, but not scruffy enough! Puzzled now, he waited for an explanation from his older sibling.

"Eliseo, you'll be wanting to tell your grandchildren about meeting this man."

"My grandchildren—that's a bit far in the future, isn't it?"

"Exactly. In a future that you owe totally to Mr. Renoir here. He's just been recounting to me how he landed the plane yesterday there on the water—a true miracle, it seems to me. Sir, you are a hero to the entire Rossi family. Which, may I add, covers a lot of people, so a lot of thanks and blessings coming your way."

Abruptly, the faint bud of a smirk planted on Eliseo's face blossomed into a wide, heartfelt grin. "The pilot! Oh my god!" He crushed the visitor's hand in a vice-like grip with both of his. "Sorry for the— That is, sorry I didn't— Well, you see, we didn't expect you until later."

The stranger flashed a smooth and charming smile. "I did have business hereabouts to attend to today," he explained, "But I finished with that already. So I thought I'd take a chance on dropping by early to take advantage of your brother's generous hospitality. Call me Rhett, by the way."

"Please, let me summon my brother. Believe me, he's as grateful as I am for what you did. You saved both our lives, and he'll want to thank you, too. But be warned—he hugs." For the moment, however, the younger Rossi remained planted where he stood. "Y'know," he commented, "I noticed in the paper, you look vaguely like a lot of my cousins. That is, I thought the resemblance was vague in the news photo, but now in person—it's really remarkably strong. Mr.—that is, Rhett.—any chance you're related to us? A bit of Italian blood coursing through your veins?"

"I don't think so. I'm from the Southeast originally and I've never known any Rossis. My family is of French extraction, actually. If I look like your kinfolk, I'm sure it's just an accident of nature." As his host beckoned the young man to enter, he stepped over the threshold and added, "You know, I met another of your relatives earlier today, and she assumed the same thing—that I was a Rossi. She asked if I were here for that wedding your brother had mentioned is happening on Saturday. Pretty girl—her name was Elena."

"That would be me," piped up a voice behind them.

With Federico and Elena now crowding in from the front porch, Val anticipated a traffic jam forming in the entranceway and began directing the group assembled around the entranceway towards seats in the living room.

The last three to arrive lingered a minute by the door, though. "Rhett, this is my husband Feddy. I brought him along to meet you so we could both thank you from the bottom of our hearts for what you did for our cousins yesterday. Feddy's still mourning a member of his family who disappeared awhile back—his twin who was really close to him—and I don't think he could have borne another loss like that again so soon. I'm hoping the two of you can be friends. That's one reason I'm so sad you won't be at the wedding."

Rhett beamed at the pretty lady's dimpled companion, who waited to clasp his hand in gratitude. Hello, my new best friend, he smirked to himself coolly. Sorry, but you have something I crave. We'll see how long it takes me to wipe that clownish happy-face off your mug.

Although he reached towards Feddy to shake hands, his attention was fixed on Elena's eyes, now glittering at him in admiration. "I was honored to help," the pilot murmured modestly. "As for the wedding, it seems that the schedule conflict preventing me from attending has been resolved. I was about to ask Valentino if I could rescind my refusal and take him up on his kind invitation for Saturday. This event might just shape up to be the high point on my social calendar this season."


	18. A Lost Heart

Chapter 18

~ A Lost Heart ~

"So, Bassanio, of all the coffee joints in all the towns in all the world, you walk into this one. Quite a coincidence, I'd say."

The solemn Italian cocked his head to one side, smiling tentatively, seemingly not recognizing the famous line Katrina was paraphrasing. However, he responded forthrightly. "Coincidence? Not at all. In truth, I followed you here for a chance to talk together."

"Then are you saying that you did spot me on the street awhile back? That you came looking for me? I saw _you_ a few blocks from here, but I tried to duck out of sight, specifically to avoid you. For your own sake, I mean," she rushed to add, "Because the sight of me had seemed to upset you so before."

"Ha!" Her new companion's laugh was curt and ironic. "As though you could melt into the scenery. Do you not know how striking you are? Just like . . ." His eyes swept over her features and for an instant, he hesitated

"Like Constanza. Go ahead, you can say it."

He searched her face solicitously. "Does it anger or frighten you that I sought you out, Katrina? If it does, I'll leave."

"No, don't!" The English Getty Girl did not want that, not at all. But wait, had she sounded too eager? "I didn't . . . well, that is, I wasn't implying you should go." She hoped her tone was more dispassionate now. "I'm perfectly happy to have you stay." Her eyes flitted around the shop, seeking a distraction. "Say, do you want something to drink or eat?" The man across from her nodded and motioned the waitress to bring him a mug of coffee. When the girl had served him and departed through a door at the rear of the shop, Katrina spoke again. "Listen, Bassanio, would you like to tell me about Constanza? It would be fine if you did. Was she your childhood sweetheart? You seem so recently out of childhood yourself, still so young."

He returned her gaze thoughtfully. "I suppose I may seem so to you, and in a way I am, though I've always appeared somewhat younger than my true age. In other ways, I'm the oldest person you will ever meet. But, to answer your question, no, Constanza and I grew up in very different settings. For one thing, she was 11 years my senior—about your age, I would guess."

"And yet you loved her."

"I did." Then, bowing his head, "I do."

"So how did you come to meet?"

Bassanio paused a bit to gather his thoughts, then began to narrate. Despite his pronounced accent, his English was fluent and grammatical, his vocabulary rich—florid, even. His speaking style tended toward the formal, which lent him a courtly, old-fashioned air for one so relatively young.

"I had first entered her home—because of my profession—to attend to her husband." Bassanio spied Katrina's eyebrows rising, and hastened to satisfy the question in her expression. "It's true. When we first crossed paths, she was already settled, and had a family of her own. So I had no right to love her. And yet how could I help it? From the first moment I saw her—so statuesque, so regal—my heart was no longer mine to control. From that time forward, I contrived any excuse I could conjure to place myself within her orbit. Out in public, she moved among other women as a goddess among squawking ducklings. In private—well, I had no occasion to ever be near her in private."

"Then she didn't return your feelings? It was an unrequited passion?"

"Oh, at first she barely acknowledged my existence. Over a period of months, as I pined, I also comforted myself that her very indifference was my bulwark against temptation. It was a consolation that allowed me to savor my affections for her at my leisure. A foolish and perilous indulgence, as it turned out. You see, one day she came to visit me where I worked. I was simply pursuing my everyday responsibilities, doing my job. Actually, that day I was filling in for a colleague while he ran an errand. Then suddenly there she was, blurting out her shameful secret—to me, of all people. Virtuous mate though she had always been to her husband, she said she now found herself drawn to another man so intensely she feared her longing would crush her."

"That must have been hard, hearing her speak like that of somebody else."

"At first it was like a dagger in my heart. But I struggled to maintain composure and continue to lend an ear to her outpourings. Well, before long it became clear that she was speaking of _me!_ All unbidden, a heavy-footed joy pounded through my whole being. I knew, of course, that the ecstasy I felt was more than wrong, more than a sin. I knew it had the power to destroy us both. I also knew that I should reveal myself to her, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. I was in paradise and I didn't want to leave."

Katrina frowned in confusion. "Reveal yourself? How could she not realize it was you she was talking to? Were you wearing a disguise?"

"Disguise?" Bassanio seemed caught off guard by her question, and his eyes crinkled in momentary amusement. "You mean was I a spy wearing some sort of phony beard? Something like that?" As rapidly as it had disappeared, his earnestness returned. "No, no, not a disguise. The truth was much worse. She had come innocently seeking relief from one whose duty it was to guide her into the ways of righteousness. She did not know me because I was hid from her behind a screen. You see, we two were in the confessional, and I—I was a priest."

"A Catholic priest, do you mean? A celibate?"

"I was. But that day confirmed what I had suspected for many months—namely, that I had no calling for it. Not for that kind of self-sacrifice."

"Can I take it, then, that you're no longer a priest?" Katrina hoped she was not being tactless, but curiosity was consuming her. "Did you resign? Were you defrocked? Excommunicated?".

The man across from her shook his head. Clearing his throat, he stated soberly, "Well, it is so that the Church no longer recognizes me as one of its clergy."

Katrina thought this was an odd way of characterizing his current status. He was obviously picking his words with circumspection. However, she felt it not her place to press for further clarification.

"So you just continued to listen as she spoke . . ." the Englishwoman encouraged her acquaintance to continue his tale.

"Yes, I did, but before long, the shame of what I was doing, the hurtfulness to one whose wellbeing I valued most sincerely, overcame me. Wishing to abuse her trust no longer, I finally asked her to step outside the confessional and, though puzzled, she obeyed. The instant that her eyes fell on me, fear and humiliation flooded over her face. It tore at me to see the depth of her distress."

"Because it was too late by then for her to hide her yearning for you."

"Exactly—and after she had done so successfully for so long. Her shame, as she stood helpless before me, nearly wrenched her apart. Katrina, you have to understand that Constanza was of a haughty nature. Don't hold that against her, it was only natural. She had always been wealthy as well as well-born, coming from the old nobility. I've already mentioned her striking looks, the way she glided like a queen through society, the admiration she was accustomed to accruing from all around her. But all that was swept away in the blink of an eye. She beheld me and at once was totally vulnerable. Aghast, she staggered to her knees and reached up to grasp my arm so humbly, declaring her wretchedness, begging my absolution. At her touch, a physical thrill shot through my body and lodged . . ." For the first time since they had begun their conversation the young man's composure tottered. A scarlet hue washed over his handsome features, but he forged on. "Well, it lodged itself in a place which was thankfully well hid by my robe."

Katrina knit her brows and tried to imagine the scene. "All this was happening out in a public space? In the open sanctuary?"

"Ah, luckily, we were alone there at that hour—mid-afternoon, it was. Now, looking around warily, I felt sure that my face must be ravaged by wild emotion and I was frantic to seek cover, even at the cost of abandoning my post. Gripping her elbow, I raised her with a firm hand. Then I turned and drew her along behind me as I headed for what served as my office, in truth little larger than a closet. But, do you know, she told me later that, raw though the passion was that now stormed inside me, my expression seemed to her stony and stern. When I pushed her through the door and closed it behind us, she lifted her eyes to mine—trembling, but steeled to receive my chastisement."

His listener at this moment became aware that the waitress who had served them earlier had returned and was headed their way, coffee carafe in hand. It occurred to her that the young woman had likely been standing just inside the kitchen out back, attempting to entertain herself with her customers' conversation at the expense of Bassanio's privacy. Noting that the young man had drunk not a drop of his coffee, Katrina now caught his eye and pointed, to warn of the waitress's approach, at the same time waving her away. The girl retreated behind the counter and busied herself with other tasks, but it was clear that she was still hovering attentively. Bassanio glanced at her and dropped his voice, but then continued to pour out his testimony softly and urgently.

"My dear friend—if I may dare to call you that---I hope you will not hold me in absolute contempt when I tell you that seeing this magnificent woman quivering and totally at my mercy was more than I could bear. Oh, I knew I should hold myself aloof and counsel her to renounce her unholy obsession with me. I knew I should admonish her to remember her wedding vows."

"Yes, it seems your duty to your office and to your own vows would demand that."

"You are right. And for a moment, as she quaked before me, I dallied between duty and abandon. But then the latter won out. My youthful hot blood was my foe. No longer able to rein in my desire, I took hold of her shoulders, swung her around, pressed her back up against the door and forced my mouth roughly against hers. She emitted a surprised yelp, halfway between a cry and a moan, and surrendered without hesitation, receiving my desperate kisses and answering with her own. Scattered amongst the kisses, a torrent of revelations flew from my tongue—how dazzling I found her, how long I had adored her, how her very presence set all my senses afire."

"Wait, wait, Bassanio!" Katrina took the young Italian's hand in hers gently. She feared he might later reflect on and regret the intimacy of his disclosures and so resent her for having heard them. "Ah, my good friend—and yes, you certainly are my friend, Bassanio—please don't doubt that. But if this is becoming too personal for you to comfortably continue, I will certainly understand."

"No, no. Oh dear God, Katrina, you can't comprehend my relief to finally be sharing my secret. Indeed, I bless you for having asked. You see, I've bottled this up inside me for years. Even my cousin Sergio does not know any more than that I once harbored a love for a woman who is lost to me. But somehow I feel a kinship with you. I trust you. If you can bear to accept my confidences . . ."

His listener nodded, gratified—and frankly a little smug—at his accolade. She acknowledged in herself a wish to have her curiosity slaked, to be sure, but beyond that, she truly felt a profound sympathy for the melancholy Italian. And even that was not the whole of what she felt. She had not forgotten the fervor of his impulsiveness, nor how it had stirred her to have once been—even for a moment—its target. But compassionate camaraderie was as much as she was currently prepared to own up to. "Carry on, then," she agreed. "As you were saying, now each of you finally knew the other's heart. Tell me, did you eventually consummate your passion?"

"Eventually?" His eyebrows rose, as he drew his hand back from hers. "Dear lady, there was no delay! Before I knew it, my hands were clutching at her clothes. 'Pietro,' I heard her choke out. Pietro was the name I had assumed as a priest. Again, I stopped her mouth with my own and began disrobing her. She wore several layers, as it turned out. I had no previous experience removing women's garments, but in their eagerness my hands worked deftly and rapidly and soon disposed of all coverings that might impede my explorations. Just as quickly I doffed my own cassock."

"Oh, my," now it was Katrina doing the blushing, but so wrapped up in his memories was her companion that he forged ahead, not noticing.

"Without our drapings to protect us, we were as Adam and Eve after partaking the forbidden fruit. Nothing could hold us back, one from the other. Tall though I am, she was as tall as me, and her gaze leveled at me bore directly into my soul. She was truly the likeness of a pagan deity. I took her right there where we stood. It was the first time for me—ever—and I was amazed at how instinctively I fell into it. I was in heaven! I was in a rage! I was saved and doomed all at a single blow. When we were spent, we clung to each other, shaking, for we knew the die was cast now and that we were lost."

As Bassanio spoke his eyes were soldered to Katrina's, and she wondered whether he was still aware of who she was, or whether he was now fixated on the image of the woman of whom he spoke. She suspected that, as his words rushed from him, the man he had been was now re-living the most passionate moment of his life. How must it feel to love like that?

Struggling to imagine it, suddenly the very composed Englishwoman felt caught up in the same moment, and her heart began to race. A hunger to experience this near-stranger's caress, his embrace, to have the whole of his ardor focused on _her,_ overcame her all unexpected. Embarrassed and alarmed, she scrambled from the booth, struggling to break the spell. "So sorry, so sorry," she mumbled. "I can't—I mean, I have to—" Words failed her. She hardly knew where to look.

Next, Bassanio, too, sprung out of his seat, stricken by Katrina's reaction, and—grasping her upper arm to turn her towards him—unloosed a string of apologies. "_Scusi! Scusi!_ Once again I have upset you! I should not have burdened you with my most intimate secrets. Only you seemed so solicitous, so kind. And—it must be said—" he dropped his eyes, abashed, "—so familiar to me. But it was wrong to take advantage. What was I thinking?"

Her companion's anguish brought the Englishwoman back to herself. "Don't be sorry. Bassanio, you did nothing wrong. I encouraged you to speak openly and I meant it. And, really, I'm grateful you thought highly enough of me to share. It's just—for a moment there, you seemed so intense . . . I—I don't know why I acted as I did. You just threw me."

The Italian flung himself back into the booth and bowed his head. "Well, I'll stop now. There's no point rehashing these old stories, anyway. Why go on and on about matters long finished with?"

As Katrina slid back into her seat, she saw their waitress openly gawking at them. However, confronted with the challenge of Katrina's unwavering stare, the young woman withdrew once more into the back room. They were alone again. Katrina's hand on Bassanio's forearm summoned his attention back to her. "Bassanio, please, I apologize. I really don't mind listening. Tell me, why did it end for you and Constanza? Did the Church find out and punish you?"

"No, nobody knew, not for a long time. You see, having once possessed her, I could not give her up, but I could not truly have her either. She was still married. She still had children. She had a life I was not part of. And I, too, had a life she could not share. The shame of it was that I continued my priestly chores as if nothing had changed. Worst of all, I did not confess my sin. I celebrated the mass again and again under the most treacherous of circumstances, after repeatedly making bad confessions."

"But you only made love that one time?"

"It should have been so. But you see, I knew a way to sneak her into my cell, a back entrance where I could easily avoid others coming and going. And I had hours set aside for private devotions and meditation each day when I would not be missed. As months flew by, I brought her there repeatedly, to love her and sin with her again and again inside the walls of the Church." The man grimaced sardonically. "Of course, I told myself it was holy worship of a sort to worship a woman who was the most perfect of God's creations. To feel the divinity of her soft flesh in my arms. To surrender to the act of love which God ordained as a way for men and women to sense the presence of heaven on earth. But these were all the most fanciful of rationalizations. They're the currency with which the adulterer negotiates for leniency from eternal justice. And deep down, I recognized this. Why else would I have taught her to call me by my original baptized name, Bassanio, than that I did not want to be reminded while we were together that I was a priest and that we were committing sacrilege?. . . Katrina, why are you shaking your head?"

The woman across from him frowned. "I'm still confused, I guess. If the attraction was so strong, and if you were never discovered, how did you come to part—and so unwillingly, at that?"

"We were never discovered by the _Church,_ but it's said that in the end the sinner is punished not for his sin but by his sin."

"You're being mysterious, Bassanio, and not making much sense."

"I'll explain soon enough. You see, the strain of risking everything for me, the constant anxiety—it came to weigh on Constanza. It must have made her ill-tempered at home, for she told me that she was increasingly at odds with her husband. Bitter words passed between them often. Finally, a day came when they were at each other's throats and he sought to demean her by reminding her how much she owed him, sneering that he alone satisfied all her needs. A moment of fury led her to throw it up to him that somebody else satisfied her in a way he could not—namely, me! In an instant I was undone by my own most cherished love."

"So he reported you to your superiors?"

"Nothing so civilized. You see, despite his social prominence, the man was at heart a thug. Not that he would admit it. In fact, he made a great show of often summoning the clergy to pray with him in his home. It was how I had first spied my Constanza, after all. Thus I thought little of it when he sent for me that very night, distasteful though I found the errand to be. But I was not a moment within his door when his henchmen fell on me and imprisoned me."

Katrina's brain was racing now trying to make sense of Bassanio's story. "Are we—Bassanio, are we talking about the Mafia here?"

The storyteller shook his head. "No, there was no Mafia where I come from, but it is perhaps a similar idea. My rival meant for me to be dead by morning, but luckily Constanza was backpedaling frantically, scheming on my behalf to make right what she had done."

"Because she loved you so."

"Actually, I'm not sure, though I'd like to think so. Anyway, having married in the first blush of youth, she had a grown son not six years younger than me. With the help of her son, she came under cover that very night to where I was being held. She confessed her part in my downfall, expressed her regret, then managed to free me and send me on my way. I feared for her safety, but she swore her son would protect her. And then she stated she wanted no further part of me, not ever again. Indeed she claimed that our time together had been nearing its natural conclusion even before this catastrophe happened. That broke my heart, but it did simplify my options. Although she kissed me when we separated, I sensed she was already withdrawing back into her old life. That was the last I ever saw of her."

"I suppose you could not go back to the Church. . ."

"No, my priestly career was dead and my life was still at risk. With no home to return to and no love to linger for, I took to the road before sunrise and never looked back. For weeks I hid out in the mountains among simple-living folk."

"You didn't run away to your cousin?"

"What, Sergio? No, I didn't even know him then. But one day a traveler came through the village where I had secreted myself, and soon I regularly found myself buying him drinks at the local inn. Within days, we came to share confidences and to recognize each other as kindred spirits. His name was Joaquin. From the first he was immensely moved by my history, but it took him weeks to reveal that he knew a means for me to make my way back into the world without fear of retribution from either the Church or the powerful man I had cuckolded. He was, he told me, a 'man of vibrations.'"

"A man of vibrations? What in bloody hell does that mean? Oops, sorry for my language."

For the first time since he'd started his tale, Bassanio chuckled. "Don't worry, I've heard worse."

Katrina relaxed a little, seeing that Bassanio seemed cheered at last.. "But this Joaquin?" she queried.

"There's not much more to tell. He's the reason you see me here before you. He sent me to where I could be safe. I eventually ran into Sergio in Rome and we recognized our kinship by our shared last name and strong physical resemblance. Sergio, bless him, grew fond of me quickly. He's a wealthy man, but also a virtuous one, with a charitable foundation that works many good deeds around the world. Well, he felt I might have a talent for that sort of thing, so he sent me for some schooling in Ireland and England, and then he installed me as his charity's director. It's what I do now, and it brings me satisfaction."

"So you did have a vocation, after all."

"For charity, yes. I never doubted that. But for celibacy, I think not. I still long for . . . well, I've talked enough about that. In fact, I am aghast to realize how long I've prevailed upon your patience and good will."

"Not at all." Katrina saw that her companion was preparing to leave, and was sorry to see it. "Will you be here in town tomorrow?" she asked. "Will you be at the wedding Saturday?"

"Certainly, I'll still be here tomorrow. I may even see you again. In fact, I hope so, for I have dominated our conversation today, and I suspect you yourself have a far more interesting tale to tell. As for Saturday, I have just received unexpected news that may take me away from here before then."

Katrina wondered why she felt suddenly bereft. "Away? I hope it is good news, then?"

"I hope so, too. If it's true, it will be very good news indeed." With that he threw a large bill on the table, then took her hand, and scanned her face once more. His own face had taken on a wistful look. "_Fino a domani,_ Katrina," he saluted her. "_Sempre così bella_—still so beautiful." He reached over to run a finger tenderly down her cheek. The gesture elicited a sharp intake of breath from the Getty Girl, but before she could reply, he rose swiftly. A moment later he was gone.

"Well, Bassanio," mused Katrina after he had vanished through the door. "You are still quite a mystery to me. And, what on God's green Earth is a man of vibrations?"


	19. Missed Messages, Mixed Signals

Chapter 19

~ Missed Messages, Mixed Signals ~

**Note: **_**Giac**_** is pronounced **_**Jack**_**.**

Maria did not know what to make of the beautiful boy who sat gaping at her with big, round eyes. Zanipolo was largely non-responsive to her inquiries, yet had not taken those eyes off her face. She glanced over toward Giacomo to see whether he could provide a clue as to what was wrong with his brother. However the older of the diRossis was thoroughly engaged in flirting with her three friends. He seemed not to have noticed anything amiss. Not wanting to ignore Zany or to let their conversation—such as it was—fall into an awkward silence, she hastened to fill the void with her own prattle.

Hurriedly pulling himself together, Zany ran through in his own mind the repertoire of replies he had rehearsed with his older brother earlier: "yes," "no," "that's nice" if she was smiling, "that's too bad" if she looked sad, "I understand" if he didn't know what the hell was going on. If she flirted, say "you're pretty" followed by something in Italian. Oh, well, Giac hadn't kicked him yet, so she didn't seem to be flirting. He wished he could be so lucky, but probably he would never get to compliment her on her beauty. Most likely she was just friendly and good-natured, he told himself. Don't get your hopes up, man.

"You know," she was saying, "I may be given a trip to Italy as a graduation present when I'm out of college. Of course, that's a few years away, but maybe I'll run into you over there?"

"That's nice," the boy replied. Aha, thought Maria, signs of life there after all. But then he lapsed back into silence.

That left her searching for a simple follow-up question. "What city do you live in?" she asked.

"Our father's based in Rome—that's where the heart of the Italian movie industry is." Since she was trying to goad a little chatter from the lad to her right, Maria was secretly annoyed to instead hear Giacomo, across the table from her, insert himself into the discussion. Nevertheless, she turned and nodded at him politely. "Plus we own a vacation place on the Tuscan coast in the Livorno region," Giac concluded.

"Oh, that sounds wonderful!" She flashed Giac a quick grin, then turned and aimed her smile back at the younger diRossi. Perhaps now was a good time to find out about what really interested her. "Do you have a girlfriend in your own country?"

Seeing her smile at him again, Zany started to respond, "That's ni—" but at that moment he felt Giac vigorously nudging his foot under the table. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother shake his head discreetly and so instead he uttered, "No." Had the boy only known what he had just said no to, the subsequent instant brightening of Maria's smile would have left him on top of the world. As it was, he went back to struggling to maintain a conversation in a language with which he had only a passing acquaintance.

At least for awhile, Giac's strategy worked better than his little brother had hoped. He found he was indeed able to keep up by just sticking with the modest vocabulary at his disposal. Eventually, however, the American girl wearied of doing all the talking. "So, Zany," she threw at him, "What are your plans for the rest of the week here? Up until the wedding, I mean?"

Uh-oh, she had stopped speaking, and Zanipolo realized from the way her eyebrows rose at the end of her last sentence that she had been asking him a question. A two-word come-back probably wouldn't suffice here. His mind flew to the inventory of dialogs he had memorized with his tutor during English lessons. Now he chose one at random and launched into it: "I have a dog named Rover. I take him to walk in the park. He likes to run and chase a bull."

Maria's eyes widened. "He chases a _bull?_ Isn't that dangerous? Anyway, I'm afraid you won't find one in any parks here."

The moment the words left his mouth, he had realized his error. He always got those two terms mixed up. _Bull_ meant _toro_. He had intended to say _ball,_ meaning _palla_. "He—he chase a ball," he corrected himself.

Maria nodded but remained puzzled. Wasn't Rover a strange name for an Italian dog? And was that how he intended to spend the whole next couple of days—playing with his dog? Not that she wouldn't like to join him. Playing with dogs could be fun, especially when a cute guy came with the package. "So," she returned to the subject, "What breed of dog is Rover?"

Oh, no, there she was waiting for him to say something again. His brain offered up another dialog. "When it rains I carry an umbrella—" he began.

Finally the English-speaking half of the diRossi pair noticed his sibling floundering. "Ladies," he announced, "If you'll pardon me, I have to make a quick pit stop in the men's room. Zanipolo—?" His brother turned a grateful face towards him. "Wanna join me?" He gestured with his head towards the RESTROOMS sign towards the rear of the shop.

"Mi excusi!" the young Italian muttered to his table mates and shot to his feet. In an instant the two tall boys had made their retreat.

"That's odd," commented Kimi. "On double dates sooner or later I usually go 'check my make-up' with the other girl, but I don't remember ever seeing two guys go pee together before."

"Maybe it's an Italian thing," suggested Amber.

"Or a brother thing," guessed Jenni.

"No," stated Maria emphatically, "There's something strange going on here. I just haven't figured out yet what it is."

* * * * * * * * *

The men's room at the back of Fedelena's Pizza Palazzo was clean-smelling and tiny—just a single booth plus one urinal and one sink. Once in the room, Zanipolo slapped the side of the toilet stall in frustration, then swung around and pounded on the wall with his fist.

"Whoa, whoa, little brother!" exclaimed Giacomo in Italian. "What's got into you? It looked like things were mostly going along smoothly with that American girl. Why are you beating up on yourself?"

"Going well? You call that going well?" Tears of aggravation and shame had started forming in the boy's eyes. "I say stupid things. She knows! I can see that she knows I am an idiot! Everything comes out wrong. I said the word for _bull_ when I meant _ball!_"

Giac had trouble suppressing a snicker. "Well, so what? Look, Zany, if it's that hard, why not just admit your English is limited? Ask her to speak slower. I'm sure she won't mind repeating a bit if she has to."

The younger diRossi shook his head morosely, flinging it back and forth dramatically, as he succumbed to a level of angst and self-absorption that only adolescence can bestow. "I cannot, I cannot."

"I don't see why not!" His brother was growing increasingly impatient. He rather wished he could dump the burden foisted on him by their father and be free to match wits with the three girls who actually seemed attracted to _him_. "Look, that girl doesn't speak Italian either as far as I can see, but you don't see her getting bent out of shape about it. If anything you're closer to bilingual than she is—unless she has some other language, anyway."

"You don't understand." Zanipolo hung his head in self-disgust. "She is beautiful, don't you see that? _She_ doesn't have to speak Italian. She doesn't have to say anything at all. She just has to _be_."

Part of Zany's problem was that he was the only monolingual member of his family, and that was the comparison group against which he now judged himself. Up until the present he had not minded being odd man out, lacking the motivation to catch up. His family had always indulged him by speaking only Italian in his presence. How could he have known that a day would arrive when—suddenly, overnight—speaking two languages would become so central to his happiness? "Giac?" he looked up at his brother beseechingly. "Can you help me? I just have to get through today. Then tonight I can stay up and read my English dictionary and my English texts. I will get better."

"If you think you can become fluent in English overnight, you're kidding yourself. For Christ's sake, you've studied it two years . . . "

"Yes, but I didn't care before. I didn't apply myself. I admit it. I know I can do it if I work hard."

The sight of the boy's puppy eyes couldn't help but affect even his exasperated older brother. "You poor kid," Giac soothed, placing a fraternal arm around Zany's shoulders. "You've got it bad, haven't you? And so fast! Would it help to know that I think she likes you, too?"

The boy looked up sharply. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, do you remember when I nudged you to say No?"

Zany shook his head. "When was that?"

"Right after she asked where in Italy you lived." Zanipolo shrugged. How the hell would he know when that was? "Never mind," his brother continued. "What matters is what she asked you after that. She asked whether you had a girlfriend. See? That shows she's interested. Besides which," the more experienced ladies' man admitted grumpily, "She hasn't shown a speck of interest in _me_ whatsoever. Hasn't even tried to talk to me."

Hearing that, the kid brother's heart leapt. He was quite sure most girls would normally choose his glib, beguiling American sibling over himself. Maybe there was hope, after all. "This is really true?" he asked, half-unbelieving.

"Yes," came the answer, this time in English. _Yes_—that one blissful, power-packed little word—now _that_ was English Zany could easily grasp. It cheered him immensely.

* * * * * * * * *

As the diRossis wound their way back to their table, Zanipolo saw the three Getty Girls who'd been flirting with his brother now giggling and chitchatting among themselves. Her head supported by one arm with its elbow resting on the table, Maria lounged listening to her friends, but did not join in. As the brothers approached, she straightened, and her eyes lit up. Zany caught his breath. The rays of light in those eyes were aimed directly at him! In his chest, his heart fluttered giddily.

Meanwhile, as the older brother circled the table to his chair, Kimi spoke up. "You guys were gone a long time. I hope you're okay."

"We're fine." replied Giac with a chuckle. "I just fell in and that hero there—" he pointed toward Zany "—had to dive in and save me." Zany didn't care what it was his brother had just said, he was simply pleased to see all four girls sending good-natured smiles his way.

Meanwhile, Kimi was pulling away from Giac with a guffaw. "Yuck, you fell in? Ewww, you stinky man! We don't want to sit next to you any more, do we, Jenni?"

Giac dropped into his chair. "Ha-ha, no worries, ladies, I took a shower while I was back there." He sniffed in the general direction of his underarms. "Don't I smell clean?" He began flipping his head back and forth between his pretty neighbors, allowing lines of sympathy to spread across his brow. "What? Don't tell me the women's room has no showers? You should sue for sexual discrimination."

Zany felt at ease, happy to see that Giac was freeing him of the need to say anything himself. He pulled back his own chair, ready to rejoin the group. However, somehow his feet got tangled with each other, and the boy tripped and went sprawling. Grabbing for the table to try to save himself, he succeeded only in pulling his napkin and slice of half-eaten pizza down on top of himself as he landed flat on the white tile floor face-up. Earlier in the evening, that would have seemed a calamity. But what Giac had told him in the bathroom had boosted his confidence and his spirits, which were then further buoyed by Maria's welcoming grin.

Now while the others stared down at him with friendly concern, the boy pointed in mock horror at some pizza sauce smeared across his shirt front. The word he wanted popped into his head: "Blood!" he cried and fell back on the floor, closing his eyes and grimacing in fake _rigor mortis_. But a moment later, one eyelid lifted again and he favored his "wound" with another glance. Slowly, he reached down, scooped up a bit of the red goo, eyed it questioningly and licked it off his finger. Again, he pointed at the stain on his shirt, but this time he beamed broadly and licked his lips. "Good!" he announced.

Maria was astonished and delighted to observe that her tense and taciturn table companion from earlier was now grown light-hearted and clowning. Before he had been adorable-looking but a challenge to talk to. Now he was a downright charmer. She wondered what had passed between the brothers in the men's room to work this transformation.

Zanipolo saw the object of his admiration uprighting the chair he'd knocked over and patting the seat, inviting him to reclaim his place next to her. He scrambled up to obey and accepted the napkin she handed to wipe off his shirt. To his other side, Amber laughed, said something appreciative and made a show of feeling his right bicep. Maria immediately laid similar hold to his left bicep, and he was in heaven. Wow! Who could have predicted it? He was having fun! For awhile, he sat back and allowed the conversation to flow around him. Nobody seemed to be asking him anything, but now and then he threw in a "Yes!" or a "that's nice" just to be making a contribution.

"Maria, you're not eating your pizza! Can I have your slice?" Scarcely noticed by Zany, Amber was looking across him towards Maria's plate, eying it hungrily.

"Sure, Amber, I seem to have eaten my fill. Be my guest. I think I'm probably done eating, at least until dinner. Zany," the American girl lifted her plate and nudged his arm with the edge, "Can you pass this over to Amber?"

Zany heard his name and saw Maria offering him the remains of her snack. "Thank you!" he exclaimed. He seized the slice and chomped down on it.

Immediately he saw Maria scowl, sparking a twinge of anxiety in him. Had he made some sort of _faux pas_? He was nonplussed to hear her bark at him in a slightly annoyed tone, and began to get flustered. However, at that moment, Giacomo—diverted by a tête-à-tête of his own with Jenni--inadvertently kicked him under the table. Zany at once relaxed. In fact he was ecstatic, taking the kick to be the signal that Maria was just flirting with him. He inferred her irritation must be mere pretense. In response he bit into the pizza again and smirked at her with exaggerated lasciviousness, carrying on the game.

Puzzled by Zany's sudden boorishness, Kimi spoke past him. "Never mind, Amber, I'm done, too. You can have my last slice if you want it." Unfortunately, seated diagonally across from Amber, she was forced to stretch across the boy in order to hand over her pizza. Seeing another slice proffered in his direction, he now snatched that piece, too, and slapped it down in front of him.

Maria punched him in the arm. "Stop the goofing around, Zany. That's not very funny!"

More flirting, he thought. Pretending to be jealous of the girl who'd just given him her pizza? Oh, but—whoops!—he recalled there were some words he'd neglected to say. "You're pretty!" he declared to Maria and laughed.

"What?!" Was he fobbing her off with a compliment? That was fresh! If he was patronizing her, implying she was cute when angry, he hadn't seen anything yet!

Maria's peremptory question and growing aggravation finally caught the attention of Giac, who sized up the situation quickly. "Aw, don't mind my brother. He was just fooling around, but he didn't intend to upset anyone. You didn't mean anything by it, did you, Zany?"

Turning towards the voice addressing him, Zany saw that all of a sudden all eyes at the table were on him and they were no longer laughing. He whipped his head around to face Maria and quickly discerned that she was _not_ flirting with him, not at all. Now panic set in earnest. He had made an ass of himself! The delightful party was ruined! Suddenly he was trapped again walking the tightrope he'd been tethered to all afternoon.

As Zany stared in confusion into the beautiful girl's eyes, he heard his brother's voice again, speaking with a forced cheerfulness, but more insistent this time. "You're sorry for stealing the girls' pizza, aren't you, Zany?" A glance to the side revealed Giac nodding at him slightly, cuing him on his answer. Something in Zanipolo snapped. Damn it, he was not Giac's performing monkey. He wasn't going to say yes just because ordered to do so. "No!" It came out more forcefully than he had intended, but just saying it made him feel better. He was miserable and suddenly he was mad. An English phrase he'd picked up from the movies flashed into his brain now, arriving, it seemed, just when he needed it. "I'm out of here!" he proclaimed. Then, grabbing his jacket, he headed for the door of the shop.

Dismayed and baffled, Maria rose from her chair, swung around and faced the brother who was still sitting there. "What happened? What's been going on here? Why did he do that with the pizza? And why did he leave?"

But Giac shook his head at her. He had thought he had Zany calmed down and under control. He'd done his best to help him and in return the temperamental little bastard was threatening what had so far been a sociable gathering with pretty girls. Very well, Giac was washing his hands of the kid. "Don't mind him," he reassured Maria. "It's not you, I'm certain. He's just a moody guy. Forget him."

But Maria was not reassured. Something had been—well, just _off_—all afternoon. She didn't like the idea of Zany pacing through the streets, upset over who-knew-what. "I better go find him," she announced. "If he decides to go walking around, he may get lost out there."

* * * * * * * * *

Heedless of where he was headed, Zanipolo stomped along the sidewalk, rushing to put distance between him and anyone he knew who might spot the hot tears stinging his eyes. Curdled in self-reproach and self-pity, his mind racing, he slogged on for many minutes before becoming aware of a woman's voice calling to him. By the time he finally glanced toward the voice, Maria was growing hoarse.

What in God's name is _she_ doing here? he wondered. It was the last thing he had expected to see. Just when he believed he had no options left but to wallow in his own ignominy and grief, here was his dreamgirl again. And she was coming for him alone—no Giac in sight. But what did it mean? Was she here to scold him some more or did she want something else? Was there any chance he could still impress her?

Not wanting the girl to find him crying, he turned his back to her and swiftly wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, then swung around to face her. She was coming right at him now, wearing a serious expression, and speaking in a low, pacifying voice, as one does when confronting a dog of uncertain temperament. And like a dog, he could make no more of the words being tossed at him than "Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."

"Hey, you startled us all, exploding and running out like that," Maria soothed. "Just when we were all enjoying ourselves. You know, I can't figure you out, you blow so hot and cold."

At this point, the hapless young Italian gave up on trying to match his memorized catch-phrases to his questioner's subject matter. He could only pick out a word he recognized here and there anyway. Thus, basically clueless as to her meaning, he repeated the all-purpose response Giac had drilled into him: "I understand."

Drawing nearer, her face softened. "We weren't really angry, you know."

"I understand."

"If I hadn't caught you, you might have gone off somewhere and got totally turned around. Why didn't you wait in the car?"

"I understand."

All at once Zanipolo saw Maria tilt her head to one side and stare at him strangely. He shifted his weight apprehensively from one foot to another. A moment later she continued and a little smile began to curl the corners of her mouth. "Zany, I may not have mentioned it, but—I do not like green eggs and ham."

"I understand."

"Four score and seven years ago in a galaxy far far away . . ."

"I understand.

". . . they found me wasting away again in margaritaville."

"I under—"

"Bwahahahaha!" She had burst out laughing now. "The hell you do!"

Zany laughed uneasily, too. He was pretty sure she had just cursed at him—the swear words in a foreign language are always the easiest to remember. But she also seemed gleeful. He was perplexed.

Then she pointed a finger at him and spoke. "No English?"

Instantly he realized the jig was up. He breathed in deeply and released a heavy sigh, a potent mixture of resignation and relief. So this was the end of it. He was thoroughly defeated, but at least the ordeal of his charade was over. Staring at his feet in shame, he shook his head. "English, no," he confessed.

Maria stepped forward, tugged at his arm for attention and pointed to herself. "No Italian!" she laughed again.

At her laugh, he lifted his head, his hopes reignited. Perhaps this need not be a total disaster, after all. He saw no pity in her eyes. In fact, they were glowing. It emboldened him to point at himself and utter a correction, "English, a little. But slow, slow." She nodded happily.

This was not going so badly, young diRossi decided. "_Quindi, che cosa facciamo adesso?_" he asked, then translated, "What now?"

Maria pointed to herself, then at him, then back at herself. "Teach," she said, "You and I."

"Yes!" Filled with joy, he heard himself shouting. "Yes! We teach us!"

The girl made a little circle with her finger now, gesturing for him to turn around. "Walk home," she commanded. He started forward tentatively and was pleased to see her falling into step next to him. For awhile they padded along silently, each stealing occasional peeks at the other, then quickly looking away again. But a time came when he peeked and she didn't look away. Instead she winked at him.

The corners of Zany's mouth stretched from ear to ear. Lifting his face to the sky, he closed his eyes and patted his chest, pantomiming the rapturous beating of his heart. To his amazement and delight, Maria pressed against his side, slipped her hand under his elbow and continued to walk next to him, linked arm-and-arm.

Passers-by thought they saw a young couple strolling in companionable silence along the pavement. But Zanipolo and Maria themselves knew better. They had felt the street drop away as a tiny cloud had inserted itself between them and the sidewalk, sweeping them aloft to stride merrily at least a foot off the ground. Such things are known to happen in Californialand.


	20. Pie and Hormones

Chapter 20

~ Pie and Hormones ~

"Oh my god, I can't believe we still haven't had our babies, Livia," bemoaned Beatrice, reaching over to poke the mound that rose above Livia's midsection like Mt. Kilimanjaro above the plain of Africa. They were lounging side by side on B's deep-cushioned couch.

"Ouch, stop that! I get enough poking from the inside these days. Now you've woken them up and they're probably going to play an entire game of soccer in there before they settle down. Fab, get your wife under control, can't you?" the pokee now appealed to the poker's weary husband, who had just appeared clad in a lightweight suede jacket and carrying a pie.

"Fabiano, you're going out?" B scowled at the plump red cherries oozing out the seams of the golden pastry her husband held in his hands. They looked suspiciously irresistible. "Where are you taking that pie? Who's it for, anyway?"

Fab's features drooped wearily. He knew what was coming next, and after a hard day of waiting on their multitude of Getty guests, he had little stamina for the confrontation. "I'm just headed over to Valentino's, honey. He cooked dinner for Steph and his brothers tonight and didn't have the energy to produce a dessert, so he called and asked me to bring one by.'

"Was this Stephanie's idea?"

"I think it was Val's. Why?"

"But Stephanie will be eating it, and then she'll see how much better of a cook you are than her boyfriend. Will other women be there, too?"

"He mentioned maybe Elena," hedged Fabiano, purposely neglecting to say that Nena and Fen were also dining at his nephew's that night.

"Elena—I guess that's all right." mused Beatrice. "I know Feddy's keeping her pretty busy these days trying to catch us up in the baby-making department. But, still, I don't see why you have to go on making those pies. He's selling them at the bakery, too, you know," she informed Livia in an aggrieved tone. "All kinds of women coming in there and buying them. They're apparently very popular. Of course, that's exactly what you had in mind, isn't it, Mr. Sexy-Pie-Man?"

Provoked on her brother-in-law's behalf, Livia's reply dripped with scorn. "Beatrice, what's wrong with you? Do you want to be forced starving into the streets with your babies? Your husband's a baker, for crying out loud! That's his job, to sell pies. How else is he going to support your family? Of course he wants people to buy them."

"Wants _women_ to buy them, you mean. He's fed up of me being fat with babies and he's wanting pretty women like Misty to come eat them." She swiveled around now to face the poor man head on. "Did you really take down her picture, by the way, or did you just say you did to shut me up?"

This was too much for her sister-in-law. "If you don't watch out, Fab's going to get tired of you always accusing him. He's down at the bakery before dawn, with nobody there to help him. Then when he's already worn out, he has to run home and make you pasteles." Livia attempted to punctuate her reproach by crossing her arms over her chest. She crossed her left arm over the right. Then she tried the right over the left. But no use, her swollen breasts and monstrous abdomen got in the way. With no place to rest her arms comfortably, she started waving them in the air and continued her diatribe, her voice growing shriller. "You know Fab's very handsome, just like Tino. He really could get another woman if he wanted. You should be nicer to him."

At this, Fabiano's eyes lit up with alarm "No, no," he cried, despairing. "Thanks, Livia, you mean well, but you're not helping. B, don't listen. I'm not going to leave you just because women buy my pies and not because you get jealous, either. You've got to believe me."

"Hmph," grumped Livia. "Well, Fab, if you don't want your wife to get jealous, maybe you shouldn't wear such tight jeans. You notice you don't see your brother in jeans two sizes too small for him." She loved her in-laws and she hated to see them fighting. She saw it was left to her to whip them into shape.

And perhaps her efforts were paying off, for Beatrice now jumped in to defend her husband. "What do you mean? You think Fab should dress like a frakking undertaker the way Tino does? I love his tight jeans. They're beautiful."

"Why, thank you, sweetheart." Fab was clearly touched.

However, Beatrice, who had momentarily forgotten their fight now turned on him, eyes flashing. "Fabiano, those jeans are going to give you prostate cancer. How many times do I have to beg you to stop wearing them?"

"But . . . but . . . you said you fell in love with me for my jeans."

"And," announced Livia leaping back into the fray, "tight jeans can't give a man prostate cancer, B. How many times have I got to tell you that? The prostate is up inside, you know, not near the jeans. What tight jeans can give him is infertility." At that, all three pairs of eyes flew to Beatrice's huge belly. "Or maybe not," Livia's voice trailed off lamely.

Reflexively, Beatrice's hands slid down to cradle her belly. The thought of Fabiano's babies nestled under her heart now set tears to rolling down her cheeks. Newly awash in guilt and sorrow, she sank back into the couch and looked off to one side, avoiding her true love's eyes. "I'm sorry, Fabiano," her voice emerged small and strained. "I know I said you could sell your pies. I'm a bad, awful wife and I don't deserve you and you can leave me if you want. I just get scared, you know." She bowed her head and emitted a strangled sob.

The man who adored her placed his pie on the coffee table and stooped over to kiss the crown of her head. His left hand ran caressingly over her thick dark hair to the back of her neck and rested there. Catching up his other hand between the two of her own, his beloved held it against her tear-stained cheek and closed her eyes. For a small fraction of eternity they remained motionless as waves of affection passed between them, binding them one to the other.

Livia looked on with fondness, mollified. The scene before her now was what she had hoped for all along, however much her words might have stirred up the pot. It just frustrated her sometimes that her in-laws were so much harder to manage than her own darling Tino.

Now she saw Fab crouch beside the sofa. "B, I've got some news. My brother thinks I should hire some help at the bakery. Then I won't have to work so hard there and can spend more time here with you—and with the twins when they finally pop. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"That would be nice," came the gentle reply.

"Anyway, I've looked over the accounting books and I can afford it, so I'm going to do it. I've already asked my godson Cristoforo to come work for me, and he's starting right after his honeymoon. And I'm going to put up a Help Wanted sign down at the bakery tomorrow, so hopefully I'll have some help coming on board even sooner than Cris."

Beatrice nodded. "Just don't let that boy make any deliveries, okay?"

Fab chuckled and shook his head. "Don't worry. Any driver I employ will have to have his driver's license—or at least a hope in hell of getting one some day." He smiled at her and touched a finger to her nose. "And speaking of driving, I better be off." With that, he kissed her lips quickly and tenderly, arose, grabbed up the pie and departed.

B scrunched her eyes shut briefly, the better to savor this momentary oasis of relief from the perpetual churning of her hormones. Finally, though, those eyes opened and fell immediately on Livia, who sat stolidly at her side thinking her own thoughts.

"Well, so now you're Fab's big protector, Sista? Trying to make a good impression on him, are you?" Livia looked up, startled at this new line of attack. So much for the kinder, gentler Beatrice. Could her Dominican best friend possibly think she'd ever ditch her own masterful, debonair husband for his hapless, careworn, fashion-challenged twin? But Beatrice wasn't through: "You're not a good wife, either, you know. Not one little bit. Why are you here when Tino's next door by himself? I think you should go home."

Cut to the quick, Livia retorted, "So that's what I get for trying to help you preserve your marriage. If you must know, Tino's taking a nap and I wanted to let him have some peace. But fine, I'm going now."

"Good, because I'm not watching TV tonight and I know that's all you come here for."

"If that's what you think, then fine, I'm going."

"Fine."

"See if I stay where I'm not wanted," added Livia, a look of strain on her face.

Beatrice looked at Livia expectantly. Livia looked back. A few seconds passed. Beatrice raised her eyebrows questioningly. Why was that woman still sitting there? she wondered. Livia scowled back petulantly. A few more seconds passed. B could bear it no longer. "I thought you were going home."

"I am," said Livia defiantly, "Right now. . . ." here her face reddened and she looked down at her considerable bulk ". . . as soon as I figure out how to stand up."

"Here, I'll help you." Beatrice lumbered to her feet, not without difficulty. "Give me your hands."

Livia placed her hands in her sister-in-law's and rocked, trying to get up momentum to heave herself from where she sat. A couple times she rose partway, but only to fall back again.

"Never mind," said Beatrice, "Rest there a minute, then we'll try again." She plopped back down beside the beached whale on her sofa. "Meanwhile, let's watch cable. There's a Freddy R movie on tonight."

"Okay," said Livia.


	21. Red Swan, Black Heart

Chapter 21

~ Red Swan, Black Heart ~

Had anyone sat secluded in the twilight shadows of the patio behind the duplex, they would have seen a soft globe of light emanating from the halogen bulb hung under the eave of the house next door. Within the luminous sphere, the observer might have discerned what appeared to be a very large red swan, its elegant black neck in profile stretched upward in a graceful curve. The swan, sitting so still and silent, was clearly a beloved pet, for its master hovered over her, gently grooming her with great concentration. The man's upper torso, more commonly seen during daylight hours unburdened by clothing, now sported a plaid flannel shirt as defense against the evening chill. His chest and arms moved rhythmically as his hand passed over the huge bird, caressing her rotund ruby body.

That was what a bystander—had there been one—might have spied, watching from under cover of darkness. But Sawyero's keenly attuned senses, honed by the requirements of his job, detected no such presence nearby. At least, not until the moment that a twitching of the hairs on the back of the neck brought him to alertness. True, his ears had heard nothing. After all, the soft, dewy, close-cut grass would be expected to muffle any footsteps. But during the day, he often worked surrounded by an earsplitting hum that drowned out all other sounds anyhow and, to compensate, had developed an uncanny sixth sense that let him know when one of _them_ was drawing near. By _them,_ he meant one of those restless souls he thought of as "the vagrants." And somebody was here now. He could feel it.

Conditions were not right for a vagrant to be approaching, though. It was true Sawyero did expect a visitor near midnight, but that would be several hours hence. Ceasing his ministrations to the swan, he raised his chin but did not turn to search for the presence out there in the darkness. Instead, he simply stated, "I thought we agreed on a much later meeting."

It wasn't until he heard a female voice that he flinched and whipped his head around to scan the newcomer's shadowy form. "I'm not aware of any such appointment," came the reply. "In fact, I've never spoken to you in my life." The voice emanated from a woman standing just across the invisible boundary between his and the neighbors' yard. A moment later she had crossed the boundary and sauntered into the light.

"Ah, sorry, darlin'," drawled Sawyero. "I thought you were somebody else. I've seen you, though. Sitting over there in the lawn chairs with another woman, earlier today. Don't know that you two noticed me."

The woman's tiny, private, self-contained smile instantly broadened into a derisive grin. "Why start by lying right off the bat?" she challenged him.

"Ma'am?"

"We certainly did notice you, and you noticed us noticing. Don't deny it. You enjoy being noticed. You cultivate it. Why else would you go shirtless at this time of year?"

"Do you think maybe because cutting my grass is hot work?"

"Oh, the grass is your excuse. But, no, I don't believe that's such hot work that you have to go naked in late winter. Besides, you didn't even mow today. I'm sure you're well aware that the Rossi wives and their friends check out your assets regularly. You seem the kind of fellow who'd take note of the effect you have on people, the better to make use of it if the chance arose."

"So first you accuse me of lying and now you're implying I'm a manipulator. That's quite a lip you have on you, woman. A pretty lip, to be sure," he added grudgingly, "but still . . ."

"Am I wrong, though? You do mess around with the truth from time to time, do you not? For instance, my hosts call you Sawyero but I'm fairly sure that's not really your name."

The tall man chuckled. "Okay, you caught me. That one's my little joke. There were all these Italians in the neighborhood and their names all seem to end in 'O.' I merely thought I'd add an 'O' of my own, just to blend in."

"Well, you don't. Blend in, that is," declared the woman bluntly, and then added, "Speaking of names, mine is Lynnie."

"So what brings you out here tonight, Lynnie?"

"There's a lot of us guests crammed into the duplex right now, and I just wanted a little solitude. And then I got curious about what you were doting on so tenderly over here. I thought perhaps a pet—it looks a bit avian from afar. But now I realize it's your power mower—a bird that roars. Of course, I didn't notice the cloth in your hand before, or the bottle of polish at your feet. You've certainly got the red metal shined to a dazzling gloss."

"Ha-ha, you really thought it was a big bird?"

"Yes, it looked like it—a swan, maybe, with the handle there as its long neck. You buff it so lovingly. I've seen a man touch a sports car like that before, but never a lawn mower."

"Well, I ask a lot of my mower. I guess maybe your hosts have told you I'm quite proud of my lawn, so I owe a lot to this 'bird.'"

Lynnie shook her head dismissively. "There you go again. The idea that you're obsessed with your lawn—that's bull."

Sawyer frowned now, genuinely annoyed for the first time. "Are you aware that you just contradicted yourself, Lips? You claim I don't care about my lawn, when a moment ago you accused me of being obsessed with my lawn mower."

"Oh, you care about your instrument, all right. But you're no suburban homeowner shaving your grass down to the roots in order to show up your neighbors. When it comes to the red swan there, you and I both know that what you really value is the singer, not the song."

* * * * * * * * *

Entering Val and Stephanie's kitchen, Fabiano found it so stuffed with teeming humanity, he scarcely knew where to walk. Valentino was stationed at the stove, stirring something in a steaming pot. Over to one side, Eliseo stood sorting out flatware on the counter, aided by Fen. As his uncle watched, Liseo bent down to whisper in his helper's ear and was rewarded with a playful slap on the arm. Feddy and Elena, meanwhile, were seated on one side of the kitchen table, each with a cutting board, slicing up vegetables for salad. Another of the Rossi relatives swung into the kitchen from the dining room, grabbed a stack of plates and headed back to whence he came. Fab couldn't place him at the moment, but supposed he must be a nephew who had altered his haircut recently. As the Rossi uncle stood in the door, grasping his pie and clearing his throat for attention, he heard a voice address him from behind.

"Fab, do you mind letting me get around you?"

With that, Matteo elbowed his way through the door past his uncle. A large cardboard box in his arms nearly knocked the pie from Fab's hands. Just then, Nena slipped into the kitchen from the dining room. Matt's face lit up, accentuating his dimples. "Nena, there you are. Look! My cameras and slides have arrived. You said you'd help me pick out slides of my photos to show Sal tomorrow. Can we start now?"

Nena's eyes darted in Val's direction, seeking reassurance that he could spare her set of helping hands. Glancing her way, Val gave her a quick thumbs up. "It's okay, Nena, I've got so many busy bees in here, they're tripping over each other. You've certainly done your share. . . . Oh, Fab, there you are! And that pie—_magnifico_! Thanks for rushing it over."

"Glad to do it, no problem at all." The baker mulled over that statement before amending it slightly, "At least not much of a problem—it did get me in a bit of Dutch with the wife."

"With Beatrice? Whatever for?"

"Never mind. Kinda complicated to explain. Could you just do me the favor of not mentioning to her that Fen and Nena were here tonight. Suffice it to say it will help me maintain the peace until the twins pop and she has something else to worry about."

"Sure, mum's the word." Val seemed puzzled, but cooperative. "Hopefully, it won't be much longer anyway. She must be past her due date by now, isn't she?"

"Oh, she and Livia are both two weeks overdue and no sign of progress on the part of either one. I'm afraid Tino and I have sired the four laziest babies ever to hunker down in a pair of wombs. The laziness inherited from their mothers' sides, of course. "

Val chuckled, "Well, God knows _you're_ not lazy, Fab, running both a house and a business almost single-handed."

"I may have some news on that front soon, actually. Let me tell you about Tino's suggestion . . ."

". . . oho, Fen, abuse _me,_ will you? We'll see about that!" Eliseo grabbed a table knife from the pile he was sorting and brandished it at his assailant. Fen snatched up a knife of her own and parried. The couple had fenced for only a moment when Fen seized a fork in her spare hand and made a move as though to puncture her opponent.

"Cheating now, I see!" cried Eliseo, catching her wrist. "Watch out, me pretty, I'll be damned if I let cheats come drink in my new bar!"

"Threats, threats," responded Fen airily. "You do realize that your bar exists so far only in your mind? I'll take you more seriously if the place ever actually materializes."

"Don't mock, little girl. That may well happen sooner than you think. Matt and I already have an investor willing to put up the capital for start-up."

"Who's that?"

"A woman we met on the plane coming over. One of you Getties, actually. Name of Sal."

"Sal wants to give you money?" The New Englander couldn't keep just a tad of jealousy out of her voice.

"Apparently she got a wad of cash from Gio's ex-wife, cash she's not using. For some reason, she said doesn't want to spend it on herself. In fact, she claims she specifically wants to put it in Rossi hands. Of course, that was before my brother nearly squeezed the life out of her during freefall, so who know if she's still up for doing us a favor?" At the memory, he chuckled appreciatively. "Probably depends on how many of her ribs Matt broke. . . . Fen . . . Fen? What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"

No answer was forthcoming, however, for at his side the tiniest Getty stood with furrowed brow, staring across the room at Nena. The latter was now sitting flanked by Matteo at the table opposite Feddy and Elena. As it happened, Fen and Nena had lately been discussing this very issue. After receiving their shares of Rachael's largesse, the two friends had forsworn gainful employment to live on their windfalls. Might as well have fun while they were young, they figured. But ever since Melissa had told them that the Rossis were close to rampage over Gio's fate, they'd been coming around to Sal's way of thinking. That very morning they had resolved to seek new jobs. Whatever remained of Rachael's gifts, they agreed, should be used to benefit Gio's family.

The moment passed quickly, however. Fen raised her eyes to Eliseo's and was struck anew by his masculine magnetism. Immediately she realized which Rossi she, for one, wanted to benefit most. "You know, big guy, I'm pretty sure there are a couple other Getty Girls besides Sal who'll want a stake in your venture. I just have to talk to somebody and then I'll fill you in."

Meanwhile, Val felt Fabiano's hand clutching at his elbow and realized that his uncle's prattling had suddenly ceased. Fab was pointing towards the dining room doorway. "This is embarrassing," he muttered. "I've known all my nephews from their births, and now I can't place that one over there. He looks a bit like a spiffed-up Cris, but I just saw Cris today so I know it's not him. Not Nino, either—too short. Is it Ontrelle? Has Christy finally got fed up with his nature-boy ways and given him a makeover?"

Val's eyes swung round to where Fab was pointing and clapped hand to his forehead in chagrin. "Omigod, I'm a bad host. Not to worry, Uncle, you're not going senile. I should have introduced you, because that's actually not a Rossi."

"But he looks . . ."

"I know. I know. I can't explain it. Just coincidence, I guess. But here, let me introduce you."

As Fabiano watched, the non-Rossi now passed behind Federico and his wife. Feddy's left hand was resting lightly on his wife's shoulder while his right hand slipped a tomato slice into Elena's broadly welcoming mouth. Abruptly, the stranger stumbled and fell clumsily against the couple, forcing them apart. It almost seemed to Fab that the fellow had tripped purposely, but he immediately dismissed the thought. Why would the guy do that, after all? Who was he, anyway?

He did not have to wait to find out, however, for Val was beckoning towards the visitor. "Rhett, come over here. I've got another relative who wants to thank you. This is my Uncle Fabiano. Don't worry, though, if you've got Rossi fatigue. I'm pretty sure he's the last of the lot tonight."

Though confused, Fab wished to be agreeable. Tentatively he held out his hand as the young man approached. "Put her there, erm, Rhett, is it? I do indeed thank you most sincerely. And any moment now, Val here will no doubt tell me just what it is I'm grateful for."

"This is _him,_ Fab. This is Rhett Renoir. You've heard of him—he's the pilot who saved Matt and Liseo's life yesterday. The hero who landed that plane in the water. As far as I'm concerned, he's an honorary member of the family!"

* * * * * * * * *

Tawny and casually confident as a lion pacing the savannah, Sawyero closed the distance between himself and Lynnie in two strides. Before she knew it, he had lowered his face to within inches of hers.

"Lady, it's obvious you think you know some secret about me, and you're just dyin' to let me know you know. So, if you're so smart, why don't you spill it?"

It took the whole of Lynnie's will not to drop her eyes under the unrelenting force of his steady stare. Every instinct seemed to be pressing her to turn away from the challenge in his eyes, but somehow she managed to hold her chin up and meet his gaze. She prayed that he couldn't detect the quivering sensation that his sudden closeness aroused in her.

"I do believe I know more about you than you imagine," she declared. "Oh, not the personal details of your life story, nothing like that. But I've met your kind before. Quite recently, in fact, for I've been on the road awhile now, and guys like you are more common than one would think."

Sawyero shrugged. His hand casually brushed a stray hair from her forehead, eliciting a sharp intake of breath on her part. Hearing that, he sneered smugly, and emitted a sharp laugh. "If you mean guys who could teach you a thing or two, then yeah, Lips, I guess there are a few of us around."

His visitor snorted. "Going for sexy, are you?—sure, you'd play it like that. But, no, sexy's not what I'm focused on." (Okay, now who's lying? she berated herself, but she continued.) "The others I've met like you—well, some were attractive, some not so much. But all of them had two things in common: each of them had a calling and each of them had a tool."

Evidently her words caught the mower-king off guard, for his eyes shot off to one side before returning to her own. Could it be the man was actually shaken by her words? Lord, she hoped so. A moment ago, she had seemed on the verge of ceding the upper hand to him, and she was not comfortable with that prospect. Not at all.

"So, Lynnie, you've been running into lawn mower jockeys all over the globe? Is that what you're saying?"

"You know it's not. So far, you're the only one who works with a lawn mower. But there's a fellow in a temple in Sri Lanka with a gong he bangs for a half hour every morning. And in Frankfort, Germany, I found a Herr Gimmel who favors a jack hammer. At a club in northern Ontario, I met a member of the house band whose job there gives him an excuse to wield his fender guitar nightly. In fact, every one of you whom I've encountered has some cover story for making a racket on a regular basis. But those stories are cow puckey, just like your own claimed devotion to groundskeeping."

"Hmph," grumped Sawyero. "I admit nothing. Well, that's not quite true—I do admit you've got my attention, Lynnie. All this curiosity on your part, where does that come from?"

"My profession. I'm a dream analyst—my friend you saw with me earlier is my business partner. I've devoted the last year or two to researching alternative explanations for some of the dreams that have been told to me. You see, some of them just don't fit the classic dream analysis models. It's become obvious that some dreams stem from dreamers' unusual real life experiences—experiences that, it seems, always turn out to involve people in _your_ profession. Your true profession, that is."

"My so-called profession, you mean. Whatever that might be. You've got quite the imagination there, woman, but I'll wager it's all conjecture on your part. You think you're onto something, but you're not."

"If that's so, can you clarify one thing for me?"

"Clarify what?

Lynnie's eyes were now focused at a spot in the darkness behind Sawyer, towards which she nodded her head. "I just want to know why _he's_ here."

* * * * * * * * *

Every family can be seen as its own tiny country with its own ethos and culture. To step out of the circle of one's kinfolk is to cross over into an alien culture, and Rhett was certainly on foreign soil now. The home that had formed him could not have been more different than the clan who surrounded him this evening. From what he could surmise, the Rossi males lived almost communally, always in and out of one another's homes. To live as a Rossi was to live with the assurance that through times of joy and times of trouble a multitude of men who shared your blood were always at your back, ready to buoy you aloft or to defend you to the death.

Rhett, in contrast, had never loved or lived in fellowship with another man. His very first memory, in fact, was of rushing into his house in tears at the age of five, disconsolate that a group of older boys had called him a "bastard" and mocked him for having no father. Apparently, lack of a father was a shameful thing, branding him as beneath society's contempt. He had run into the arms of his beautiful, blonde, buxom mother, and she had dried his tears, assuring him that he did indeed have a father once. The man was simply dead, she explained dismissively. Then she had kissed his nose, spun around and whisked herself out the door, heading for a date. In his mother's wake, his Great Aunt Clarice had hugged him to her bosom and sought to divert him from his questions and his sorrow.

Sometimes, as he grew, he would become curious watching other boys with their fathers. He knew other children who did not live with their fathers, but he knew no others who did not at least have one somewhere, a man who would sweep them away and play games with them, who would take them to the zoo and the movies, who would send them presents. Observing this, he would periodically press his mother for further information about his own progenitor, and then his mother would reluctantly feed him just few enough tidbits of information to satisfy and silence him. At these times, his aunt would purse her lips disapprovingly. She disliked hearing his mother address the topic at all.

This was all the information that Rhett gleaned from his mother over the years: While still in their teens, she and his father had fallen in love. His mother's father was a moderately wealthy Northern businessman. Her suitor, on the other hand, was hardworking but poor, and her father despised him for it. He threatened his daughter with disinheritance if she did not abandon her beloved, and she responded by eloping. Her father was as good as his word. She never saw her parents again, although her mother occasionally sneaked her a brief note containing a couple hundred bucks. To support his bride, her new husband enlisted in the Navy and trained as a logistical flyer. Then one day, attempting a landing on an aircraft carrier at sea in the midst of a violent storm, he lost control of his plane. In that fatal moment, with his child still nestled in his faraway young wife's belly, he forfeited his own life and those of the men he was transporting. Surreptitiously, the pregnant girl's mother got word to her that her own old maid sister in North Carolina stood ready to take in her wayward niece. And so his mother hit the road, and Rhett had grown up a son of the South.

Rhett himself never remembered a time when his mother had been without male companionship, but she never again committed herself to just one man. Why would she tie herself down, after all, when she was lovely and high-spirited and there was so much male beauty in the world to sample? Pursuing a social life that would have left other women drooping with exhaustion, she readily bestowed her love on her offspring, but rarely her attention. Thus, his great aunt, well past her prime, served as the sole tentpole upon which the boy's family life hung. She read him poems and stories, she played piano and taught him to sing duets with her, she took him to the botanical gardens and taught him the names of the trees and flowers and birds, she played chess with him and honed his tactical skills. It was his sole experience of true familial affection and intimacy.

During his elementary school years, young Rhett was a perfect picture of deference and modesty. If his teachers did not love the bland little boy, at least they appreciated his obedience, politeness and work ethic—all those values most prized by Aunt Clarice as vital for getting by in this life. But then, Clarice succumbed to a stroke and died suddenly. Rhett, now 9 years old, had only his mother to rely on after that, and unsurprisingly found himself left to his own devices most of the time.

As he matured, growing wise in the ways of the world, Rhett became increasingly aware that his mother's lifestyle violated every moral tenet that his aunt considered essential to personal worth. The party girl was selfish and lazy and loved luxury. She squandered whatever opportunities for advancement came her way in order to pursue fleeting pleasures. She basked in the admiration of men and happily traded on her charms to accept money and favors from them. She let neither the law nor social mores nor her own conscience stand in the way of feeding her own spectacular appetites. As his aunt's sermonizing voice grew fainter in his memory, the example of his mother came to exercise greater and greater influence on his own behavior. If he never felt truly close to her, he nevertheless adored her. And he wanted what she had—utter independence and the ability to work her will on others, to get what she wanted without feeling beholden to anyone or any principle. He wanted her gift for passion without entanglements.

Unfortunately for Rhett's mother, carelessness was part and parcel of her profligacy. While driving a convertible one summer night, she reached over to stroke her handsome male companion's thigh and smile into his eyes, leaving her unaware of a red light in her path. After the funeral, her teenage son, standing at her grave, realized with a pang that he was truly alone in the world. But then, hadn't he been alone for a long time, really? What was truly new was that he was now absolutely free. From now on he would travel by his wits without social baggage.

The boy who entered high school that autumn was an interesting amalgamation of the lessons he had learned from the two women who raised him. He was industrious and gave every impression of modesty and good will towards others. At the same time, he knew how to seek out and exploit the weaknesses of others and to manipulate any situation to his own profit. And he was beginning to fill out and acquire the good looks that were to be his blessing from now on. To the foster parents and social workers charged with shepherding him into adulthood, he seemed exceptionally mature and able. But to some others, he showed a darker side. A certain state congressman, for instance, had once foolishly risked his marriage to dally with Rhett's mother. Rhett wielded his own knowledge of that indiscretion to garner for himself a lifelong dream: the politician was forced to find a way of explaining to his wife why he was footing the bill for top-tier flying classes to benefit an apparently unremarkable adolescent constituent.

Not that Rhett wanted the classes for the reason you're thinking—he minded not a whit that his father had abandoned him before birth. The Navy airman was an ass and a dolt. He had failed to master his own craft and he had perished for it. Rhett didn't resent the fact, because he had never needed or missed the guy. Not at all. Still, if he himself ever sired a son, he damned well wanted that kid to know he came from exceptional stock, that the person who made him was an extraordinary man. So, if flying was his vocation--and he felt sure that it was--then he meant to _own_ the air.

Now, looking around at his host surrounded by loved ones, it gratified the young pilot to apprehend heartfelt respect in the eyes of these men. "An honorary member of the family" Valentino had termed him. God forbid he should ever stand entangled in Rossi sentimentality or mired in Rossi obligations. But for a moment, he could tolerate a taste of Rossi admiration. He might even let himself enjoy it a bit.

* * * * * * * * *

"Nena, why are you putting that slide in the pile of pictures to show Sal?"

"Matt, why are you removing it?"

What had started as a good-natured collaboration in sorting Matteo's photos had gradually devolved in a war of wills. The crinkles that characteristically set off Matt's eyes at the moment appeared to be worry creases, not his usual laugh lines.

"I don't want her to see that one. It's not one of my best. You yourself said it was no good."

"Actually, I said the opposite. I think it shows a lot of promise. You have a natural eye for composition, Matt. There are just a couple of technical problems there, things you can easily learn to avoid."

"So there are problems. So why go showing that one off?"

"Showing off—is that what you want to do? Because I thought the whole point of having Sal look these over was to give you pointers on improving your product. To do that, she has to see the flaws. Showing her only the best ones would make sense if she were a potential buyer you were trying to impress, but she's not."

The owner of the photos had the grace to blush. "Okay, I see your point. I did ask her for an honest evaluation. It's just harder than I expected. What if she tells the truth, and what if the truth is I have no talent? There's the career I've always dreamed of, up in smoke."

"Well, I'm telling you do have talent, so if she tells you otherwise, it's just her word against mine. Anyway, why base your whole career on what anyone tells you—her or me? Talent isn't going to mean much anyway if you don't have confidence in your own vision."

"But I can't make a living just pleasing myself. I have to please others."

"Confidence is what leads to originality. Confidence is what will allow you to take chances. And taking chances is what's going to let you find your style, improve your technique—all the things you have to do to flourish. By the way, you're letting _me_ see the photos, so why is that such a big deal with Sal? I mean, I know she's a professional and I'm not, but I do pride myself on my artistic eye." Nena, if not hurt, seemed at least puzzled and exasperated.

Realizing that he might have been tactless and regretting it, Matt slipped an affectionate arm around Nena's shoulders. "I know you're a good artist, sweetheart, and I do trust your opinion. But Sal's part of the commercial world I want to enter, and that makes her scarier somehow. Besides, you're a friend, so it's easier to trust you. I hardly know her."

"You only met me yesterday."

"In person. But we've been making friends a long time on paper. Really, I feel very close to you."

For a moment, Nena's eyes were diverted across the room towards her best friend. Eliseo was now leaning back on the counter, with one arm circling the waist of Fen, who stood with her back pressed against him, a dreamy expression on her face. Aware of Matt's arm around her own shoulder, Nena asked herself was it possible that she could have with Matt what her friend was beginning to build with his twin? And then she asked herself was that even something she would want? Lord knows, it had been such a long time since she had felt those stirrings for a man. Such a long time since . . . but no, she had sworn to put _him_ out of her mind, especially now, with all these wedding festivities, these celebrations of Rossi love and togetherness going on. Whatever might have been, was no longer possible. She smiled up at Matt and she winked.

"I believe in you, Matt, and do you know what? I think you should show Sal everything you have here. Really, give her some work to sink her teeth into. I'm sure you won't be sorry."

. . . Fabiano clapped his nephew on the back and made a move to leave. "Sorry I missed Steph, Val. Where is she, by the way?"

"Gone to bed, with my blessing. She's had an exhausting day."

"Well, I better be off home. Enjoy the pie."

"Yes, thanks for bringing it, Fab. I just hope we have room to get it down. You know, Nena whipped up some cookies after lunch and we couldn't keep our hands off them. You're familiar with Nena's cookies . . ."

Val's words made Fabiano swivel around. Contemplating the community's most famous cookie-baker, he wrinkled his brow. At once, Val felt sorry he had brought the subject up. "Oops, I guess those cookies are still a sore topic around here. What they led to with her and Gio . . ."

"No, that's all right . . ." Fab nodded, only half hearing his nephew's words. Instead he stepped forward and addressed Nena, "Pardon me, I see you're busy, but could I speak with you a moment in the dining room?" Matt watched the pie maker and cookie queen disappear, and immediately set about returning his slides to their cases, thinking his own thoughts.

. . . After awhile, Val opened the oven to check the meat thermometer, then pressed the door shut again. "I'd say we have another ten minutes to wait," he announced. "Feddy, would you do us the honor of gracing us with a song. Too bad Gio's not here for a duet, like in the old days, but still, it would be nice to hear you tuning up those vocal cords again."

Federico blushed, and turned with a questioning face to his wife. "Should I?"

Elena patted his hand and nodded. "You know there's never a time when I don't want to hear you sing."

For a moment, Feddy mused over his song choice, then decided upon a favorite of his mother's, something that she loved to hear her twins crooning together, however incongruous their two voices sounded. "There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed. Some forever, not for better . . ."

As his soulful tenor voice took flight, many a nearby eye felt the sting of tears. Still holding Fen lightly, Eliseo began to sway with her to the music. Matteo broke off fiddling with his slides and closed his eyes to savor the melody. Val stirred his pot of gravy dreamily, and a moment later Fab had returned and stood at his side, his eyes shining nostalgically. Meanwhile, Nena, who had slipped back into the chair next to Matt, stretched her hand across the table to Elena, whom she had once hoped to call "sister-in-law." With tears rolling down both their faces, the two friends let their fingers intertwine. Feddy had finished the first verse, and the poignancy of his singing escaped nobody. It seemed so right to hear him warbling again, and yet so wrong that he should have to soldier on alone. Still, there was another verse to come, so the singer took a breath and continued, "But of all these friends and lovers, there is no one compares with you . . ." And suddenly, something totally unexpected and magical happened. Suddenly there was another voice there, a rich baritone, spinning out a harmony just below the lilting air offered up by Feddy. The voices blended together beautifully. Feddy turned in wonder and saw Rhett parked at his side. The visitor looked back at him, standing stock still and matching him note for note. Overcome by feelings he could not have labeled, Feddy hooked his arm around Rhett's neck and pulled him close until their foreheads nearly rested against each other. He almost wished for it not to end, and yet the final lyrics were soon upon them: "Though I know I'll never lose affection for people and things that went before, I know I'll often stop and think about them. In my life, I love you more."

Then it was done, and for a moment all in the room were silent. Rhett blinked and looked around diffidently, almost as though he was only just realizing what he had done. "I—I hope nobody minded me joining in. It's just that, well, that song means something special to me. It was a great favorite of my Aunt Clarice. She taught me to sing it with her when I was a small boy, and . . ." he shook his head then, and it seemed he could not continue.

Fab was the first to jump in and respond. "Mind? Mind? On the contrary, that was awe-inspiring. It sounded like you and Feddy here had been harmonizing all your lives. He used to sing with his twin brother . . . the fellow's gone now . . . and we loved to hear them. But actually, the two of you sounded more musical together. More melodic. We miss Gio terribly, but truth be told yours is a way superior voice."

Now, even better, Elena jumped up and threw her arms around the pilot, pressing her cheek against his. "Oh, that was wonderful, Rhett, wonderful. Very touching." As she pulled away, her eyes were gleaming. Rhett could have lost his soul in those beautiful eyes. Next, Feddy reached out and shook his hand. "It was great to have a partner. Maybe we can do it again sometime." Standing in that circle of faces so like his own, Rhett felt strange emotions wash through him, warming him and filling him with a kind of joy that he had never known. Is it possible, he caught himself thinking, that there's a home for me in this world after all? Is it possible I've found it?" He wasn't sure what this feeling was, but it felt perilously close to love.

And then, in an instant, it was over. Elena, who had been smiling at him as though her heart would burst, turned her back and flung her arms around her husband, kissing him passionately on the lips. "Feddy," she exclaimed, running an affectionate hand down the back of his head, "How great that you've found a friend. I was hoping that would happen." Her husband's hand slid down her back and found a resting place at a spot where her t-shirt had pulled away from the waistband of her jeans. Rhett was painfully aware that the bare patch of her skin where Feddy's hand lay with such proprietary familiarity was off limits to himself—at least for now. Collecting himself, Rhett nodded at Feddy, looking steadily into his face. His eyes carried a message to his erstwhile partner of friendly camaraderie, but lurking behind the eyes was a pure and secret malice.

* * * * * * * * *

A tall, lean man whom Lynnie recognized now advanced into the light, drawing even with Sawyero. It was the same visitor she had spied over here earlier in the day.

"I'll be happy to tell you why I'm here," he started to say, but Sawyero grabbed his upper arm violently.

"Shut up! It's none of her business. She thinks she can get us to reveal our secrets by pretending she already knows them."

"But I don't mind if she . . . "

"Well, I do! So zip your lip if you want any further help from me."

Hearing that, the newcomer shrugged apologetically towards Lynnie and fell silent.

Lynnie didn't care, though. "It's all right, Bassanio—that's your name, as I recall."

The newcomer's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "You know me?"

"We've met before, though I imagine you've forgotten. You were altogether preoccupied on that occasion. But I have a pretty good idea why you've come. You see, I specialize in the interpretation of dreams, and I feel certain that until recently you've been haunted by recurring dreams that you couldn't understand or explain. They aroused in you snatches of visions or maybe of memory, floating just out of reach of your consciousness. Then one day, high above the Atlantic, your dreams came thrillingly, terrifyingly alive. I know because I was there. After that, I imagine, you were determined on what you must do. That's why, as soon as possible, you came searching for this man."

Bassanio's pale, handsome jaw gaped at Lynnie in awe. "You are right! You are right! As soon as my plane landed I had gained a new mission, which was to seek out the nearest . . . "

"The nearest man of vibrations," Lynnie finished his sentence for him. Then she shot a meaningful glance at the Rossi neighbor. "And, behold, here he stands."

"Son of a bitch!" Sawyero turned on her cursing. "You do know something after all. So I guess we'll have to talk. Later, that is. As for you," he swung back to Bassanio, "You know I said to come around midnight, but I guess you were too impatient to wait."

The former priest hung his head in chagrin. "Sorry. I can come back . . ."

"Nah," spat Sawyero. "Don't bother. It turns out I'll have no more news for you tonight. Maybe tomorrow—contact me then."

The Italian nodded resignedly and strode away, heading out towards the street. In so doing, he passed Fabiano who was rounding the corner of the duplex and making for his back door. Upon seeing Lynnie with Sawyero, Fab altered his path and drifted in her direction.

"Fab, what's up? Why not go in the front door?"

"I think Beatrice is still watching TV in the living room, and I'm trying to avoid her. You see, I've got some good news—something that's going to change our lives for the better—and it's going to make her want to wring my neck. So I'd just as soon wait until tomorrow to break it to her."

"Well, if I didn't know Beatrice, that statement would make no sense, but as it is, I understand perfectly. Go tiptoe in, then. I'll be in in a few minutes."

When Fabiano had skulked off, she heard Sawyero speaking behind her and turned to face him.

"So, Lips, it seems you're smarter than I thought. But I'll wager you actually understand relatively little, and a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Promise me you're not going to share these notions of yours with anyone else until we get a chance to talk."

"Not even Sal?"

"Your friend? No, not even her. I promise to enlighten you soon. Meanwhile, I'm tired. I'd like to put the swan here to bed and turn in, if you don't mind."

Lynnie nodded. This was working out as she had hoped, so she didn't mind waiting. "Sure. See you later." With that, she trotted off, heading for the duplex.

But a moment later, she heard Sawyero calling out to her. "Hey, Lynnie!"

"What?"

"You said earlier that the Rossi women and their friends enjoy checking out my assets on a regular basis."

"That's right. So?"

"Well, tell me, aren't you one of the Rossi friends?"

Lynnie let loose with a wry laugh as she continued marching away. "Absolutely!" she declared.


End file.
